


Steel (Poke)Ball Run

by merryfortune



Series: JoJo's Bizarre Pokemon Catching Adventure [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon, Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Implied Autistic Diego Brando, Implied Non-Binary Hot Pants, M/M, Minor Character Death, Religion and Spirituality, Slow Burn, Swearing, Universe Alterations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 156,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: **HIATUS**The year is 1890 and Unova has decided to unify its Trainers beneath the Pokemon League banner. To elect its first Champion, the brilliant mind of Stephen Steel suggested the Steel Ball Run: a cross-regional race to collect eight precious Badges from President Valentine's chosen Trainers. Enchanted by the prospect of becoming Unova's strongest person, over three thousand people gather and make up the contestants of the Steel Ball Run.Johnny Joestar, a paraplegic ex-Trainer, was attracted to the Steel Ball Run based on its spectacle but when a mysterious foreigner turns up, he enters the race determined to learn the secret of Gyro Zeppeli's peculiar Spin technique. What begins as a selfish goal unrelated to the Championships turns into an epic quest to win all eight Badges and take the crown as President Valentine seems to have some sinister connection to Team Pax Unova: a group of thugs in search of the legendary heroes of Truth and Ideal. Along the way, Johnny will learn many things if he is to become the very best.:Affiliated with the @steelpokeballrun tumblr**HIATUS**





	1. VS THE UNOVA NEWSPAPER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue

   Welcome to the world of Pokemon!

   This world is inhabited by mysterious creatures capable of utilising all the potentials of nature and beyond. Humans complement these creatures. They roam, untamed, but a daring few pursue them; these bold many are coined as “Trainers”. Over time, man and monster learned to be friends and partners from agriculture, to companionship, to honourable and dishonourable duels of blood thirst and powerful displays. Not much is known about these creatures termed Pocket Monsters, or “Pokemon” for sure but their loyalty, their bonds, are unbreaking like steel.

   The year is 1890 and a most troublingly delicious proposition has been declared and Unova is salivating at the chance to redeem itself on the global plane. The Steel Ball Run championship has been unveiled and blessed by the beloved President Valentine. The brainchild of former soldier Stephen Steel, the epic race is due to commence quite shortly.

   Everybody – no matter what: colour, creed, or criteria – was decreed eligible for a most valued position in Unova. A new position had sprung up and it would completely and utterly shake up how the Unovan Republic would fair as a governance of men… and monsters.

   Following in the footsteps of the Kantonese, Johtoans, and Sinnohans so it was time for Unova to take up the mantle of a time honoured duel and formalise the procedure to, arguably, make it safer. Hence why anybody was considered eligible for this position but in truth?

   Only the strong would be daring and bold enough to even try though.

   Unova’s cousin Alola had a system of Trials but Unova was more interested in the bureaucracy of the East. Alola may have been settled by Unova but it had been reclaimed most viciously by the the native peoples and those who settled were, eventually, familiarised with the land and people: became family, so to speak so Alola was mostly interested in maintaining tradition. After all, those traditions had left the people and Pokemon of that land all as equally tough as each other.

   So it was now upon Unova to keep in pulse with the latest, globalising trends. Unova was forever following in its motherland’s footsteps as Kalos had recently adopted the eastern practices as well.

   Soon, all the notable regions of the world will be able to contend with each other on an even playing field and the right to rule by terse, unused power will be avaliable for all.

   The Steel Ball Race will elect a single person - no matter what region of origin; even foreigners were permitted to enter this Unovan battle - to rise above all the man and monster and become the first Champion of Unova. From this, greatness will be born. Pride of that person; pride for the country.

   The task is simple. Defeat eight specially selected masters of battle and the spoils will be granted to the victor.

    Eight leaders, personally hand picked by the President, will be stationed around Unova and act as checkpoints. Those who encounter these eight will commence a duel - a battle - between themselves and their monsters. The victor, if the victor, if the challenger, will be permitted to take a token of their win: a badge. However, there is a limit on how many times a leader can be challenged: not just by a sole person, but by all persons in this race. Each leader can only gift one badge to a single battler. It ought to be noted that stealing and gambling badges is not against the rules of this race: only unlawful murder and theft. From there, only a member of the race with the most badges may be given the opportunity to defeat the acting Champion of this country: President Funny Valentine, himself.

   Should the challenger emerge victorious from such a steeped in difficulty battle, then he will become the Champion of Unova. As Champion, he will be regarded as the most powerful Trainer in Unova and will be granted much wealth, fame, and power as well as the right to assemble his own elite squadron of four Trainers to become his vassals known as the “Elite Four”.

    With the Steel Ball Run not even a week away from commencing, last minute entries are drawing in fast. And with their partners by their side, it was time to choose: truth, ideals, or something transcendental? Such a choice would ripple through Unova and reach the furthest, most isolated realms upon this crazy, bizarre world.

   And with the dawn of such a contest about to approach, the fates of five people - four Trainers and someone else - will spiral and merge into one journey with one destination. Of them, one will stand at the top: an unconventional blade by his side. His friends also. All of them being born for this quest.

   The moment of that choice with the partner Pokémon that will accompany them on that cross-Unova journey, their story will truly begin. During this journey, they will meet many Pokémon and people with different personalities and points of view. They will find what is important to them in all of these travels…

   That's right! Befriend new people and Pokémon and grow as a person. That is the most important goal for your journey: learn to stand on your own feet but also know when to lean upon the shoulders of those most loved.

    Let's go visit the world of Pokémon!


	2. VS CONFLICT OF INTEREST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Money. Enough money to buy back a country. And so, Sandman resolves to do just that; even if it means becoming a traitor to the land he desires to buy back.

    A tumble of books, thick and dusty but mostly new, came crashing out of a tanned sack. Between them, were plastic platings housing metallic discs. Among them were stories and fictions written in places these men had never heard of before; spouting nonsense they did not believe in. Among them were techniques that were unnaturally known and not truly meant to be practiced. The crime these books and strange, metallic discs represented was obvious. No argument could be made as there was not even a scant shadow of evidence that could be twisted as anything but damning.

   The men sighed.

   ‘It’s the troublemaker, Chief. Sandman.’ one man lamented. ‘You can’t protect him anymore. These books - from overseas, foreign man’s books - were found in his tent. Irrefutable evidence of his crimes of treachery against our ancestors.’

   The Chief sighed. His Second-In-Charge continued to speak. He licked his lips then continued after such a pregnant pause.

   ‘Sandman will receive punishment for his crimes.’ the Second-In-Charge decided.

   The Chief donned a weary look. He was old. Too old for what was happening. He tilted his head upwards to the sky like he was receiving some sort of divine knowledge before his voice burst from his lungs with a decisive boom.

   ‘For his crimes, he will be scalped! No objections?’

   Only from the youth in question. To give chase was to abandon. To pursue was to hunt. To run was to deny all rights to this world but Sandman didn’t care. He had ambitions greater than the desert could sprawl. Whether he and his tribe liked it, the Kalosian invaders were here to stay and he was going to do his damned best to adapt to this new frontier: grind against it and change it.

    Like mentioned earlier, he had ambitions far greater than what ought to be dreamed in such hopeless and despairing times. With his partner monsters - Pokemon - in tow and hot on his heels, his tribe gave pursuit and chased Sandman.

   He and his partner Pokemon - his five, brave partners - raced through a nigh inhospitable wasteland of a desert. They were a team. Forever and always. But after today’s revelations of Sandman’s treachery, more so than ever. They were to be key tools in unlocking the path of his potential and revealing his grandest ambitions.

   The sand underfoot was soft and worn thin but it blistered and burned like the brightest rays of the sun were piercing the flesh. His leather shoes offered little protection as Soundman and his team sprinted through the sands: a long, simpering wasteland of shifting shafts of sand. But, he knew the temperament of this land. He had been brought up with it, after all, and only had the utmost respect for it. He knew that it would guide him to safety soon enough.

   His lungs ached as he ran. Every muscle screamed but he was resistant. This was normal. He had pushed himself harder but with his people, mounted on the sturdy backs of the thick-lidded, black and white Zebstrika their ancestors had brought back from their nomadic origin. Sandman knew that. He cared about that. But he also cared about the future.

   Down his bare, browned back came hot and foul breaths that reeked with infernity. Weapons, drawn and poised, glinted in the sunlight and illuminated finely honed steel. That was more than enough motivation to ignite energy inside of Sandman. He pushed himself and his Pokemon farther than they had ever been.

   Beneath beating, tough hooves came clouds of dust and it was all too easy to make a false step and be trampled. But, Sandman knew such a day would come. His braids slapped around his face as he pushed himself further through the air and he would continue until the air on his face cooled and became of sweet freedom. Hatred in exchange for something bigger and better than loyalty would ever buy him in this new region owned by strange coins.

   An axe swept down. Air was pushed aside. Sandman lunged. His Pokemon followed suit: eager to greet their master’s expectations and to escape with their own lives too. Survival instinct and adrenaline flooded them all: kill or be killed beneath a coldly judging sun that burned the environment with its malign benevolence.

   From it all, a new running style emerged. Not one taught between parent and child but rather between curious eyes and the pages of an accursed book. Like a bullet launched from a flintlock, Sandman burst forth. His Pokemon followed suit. Soon enough, they had bolstered their speeds to that which the mighty Zebstrika herd following them could not compete with.

   It was like some sort of cruel miracle. From it birthed a great escape. The tribesmen behind them yelled and hollered. Anything in the hopes it would slow Sandman and his team but it was all for naught.

    Reddish outcrops of rock sprang from the ground and soon the path turned feeble and treacherous. Only those on foot could navigate its nuances. Only those like Sandman could traverse it confidently.

   The Chief’s Second-In-Charge who donned the skin of a Raticate couldn’t help but sneer as he and his Zebstrika broke the front of the herd. He took the lead. His axe was raised but he couldn’t bring it down to cut Sandman. He was too far out of reach but just a little further. Just a little more breath and spirit.

    He was of Sandman’s peers; about the same age. Though it was he who had always been liked and for a position of power, from a young age – childhood even – Sandman had always stuck out. He truly was the trouble maker but this was outrageous: this daring escape unto death. What else would await a blood traitor?

   Much apparently given his unique determination. Wouldn’t anyone else bow their heads before the blade and accept the glaring charge? But again, Sandman had always stuck out and now, with this running technique, it was apparent that Sandman had some sort of superiority thing: separating himself from all the other children; from the whole tribe and now, by embracing that which would seek to destroy them.

   It was despicable.

   ‘Punishment! Punishment! Those who disobey the gods are to be punished!’ the other tribesmen yelled; their blood thirst harrowing but Sandman remained dauntless and focused.

   ‘You are unforgivable, Sandman!’ the Second-In-Charge howled and it was he who finally managed to breach Sandman’s zone of safety that had once surrounded him.

   He raised his axe high. The grey feathers that adorned it rustled in the momentum. A crack seemed to appear in Sandman’s confident facade as he felt just close death was to brush him.

   ‘Gooon!’

   Sandman began to climb the outcrop in the hopes that by going further than his tribesmen’s reach, he would be fine but upon hearing such a noise, a deep and dark fear struck a chord within his trembling heart. He craned his head. His eyes bulged.

   ‘In A Silent Way…’ he gasped.

   His Flygon’s wings fluttered as it hissed and spat, made tril-like noises, towards their enemies. Its paws stretched and flexed; showing off its claws. It opened its maw wide and prepared an attack despite not having been instructed to do so.

   Whilst In A Silent Way defended Sandman and the rest of the team from their attackers, Sandman continued to climb. His other Pokemon had found ways; his Sigilyph, Early Tymes, and his Cofagrigus, Shadow Show, both heaved themselves and remained in flight and levitation by his face whilst his Mienshao, Me And My Arrow, and his Simipour, That’s The Way It Is, scaled the rocky out cliff; remaining at his heels.

   A powerful, orange as a flame, light gathered in Flygon’s mouth and was then shot off. The beam ploughed through the tribesmen and the ground. Flygon flapped its wings and continued to escape with its master and comrades.

   ‘Don’t just stand there!’ the Second-In-Charge shrieked. ‘Fire your arrows!’

   As the Zebstrika brigade regained their footing, the mounted men readied their arrows. They drew them back on time-tested bows.

   Sandman’s hands gripped tightly onto the rough outcrop. He forced himself upwards even though exhaustion was apparent in his weary demeanor. He hazarded a glance at his Cofagrigus and Sigilyph and concocted a plan.

   ‘Shadow Show, use Protect. That’s The Way It Is, use Scald!’ he instructed.

   Cofagrigus conjured up a shield made of an icy blue light. It surrounded Sandman and the team. The arrows bounced off it effortlessly. From behind this shield, Simipour made its move. Simipour swiveled around; hanging like an acrobat off off the cliff. It pursed its lips and clenched its eyes tighter closed. From its mouth, a stream of fast flowing water exuding steam burst. Simipour hosed down the people and Pokemon beneath it. The attack was not enough to affect the Zebstrika but it was enough to injure the Trainers. The smell of boiling flesh pierced the air.

   With the opportunity created, Sandman continued to climb. He reached the peak and a breeze drifted past him. He could see almost all of the desert – the Desert Resort, he supposed, not his words though – from up here. He hefted Simipour and Mienshao up to his side. Cofagrigus and Sigilyph soon joined him. His ever dramatic Flygon zoomed up and covered the sun; casting a shadow over Sandman. He grinned. Then he ran with all his partner Pokemon in tow once more.

   The breeze picked up and their footprints in the dust disappeared. The trail quickly turned cold. It was impossible for the Zebstrika brigade to follow as Zebstrika were not known for being able to scale rocky cliffside faces.

   The Tribe’s Second-In-Charge let go of his prey. He couldn’t help but wonder after such a display, what Sandman’s motives were and if they had truly grown up together like his memories would suggest.

   Sandman disappeared. He kept running and leaping until he got as far as way from base camp as he could go but, apparently, it was not enough. He hefted himself to the top of another cliff with heavy, noisy breaths and came face to face with a very familiar pair of legs clad in thick boots with strands.

   He collapsed at that person’s feet. Bloody and exhausted. He didn’t care. He dizzily looked up to a disappointed face: beautiful with black hair that cascaded around it in messy shafts with a fringe of green. The appearance of his sister; the only one who knew him better than his Pokemon, truth be told.

   She let go of a weary sigh. ‘I’m taking you home.’ she informed him.

   She kicked his side. He sputtered and dribbled blood. He keeled over himself and tried to protect himself from her frustrated blows. He deserved it, somewhat. He would admit that as he was perfectly aware that he was a traitor to their - her - tribe. But soon, her blows lessened until they were harmless flicks and her eyes watered. She got down on her knees and pinned him to the ground so that he had no chance of escape.

   ‘If we apologise together.’ she attempted to bargain with him. ‘If you promise to the Elder that you won’t read those foreign books and destroy those – those things, whatever they. Maybe you’ll get forgiveness.’ Her voice grew in volume. ‘We’re going home together, Sandman!’

   Sandman took a breath. Now that he could tell she meant no harm, he could breathe. He could relax and recuperate, even if it was for a few seconds. His Pokemon clustered around him. Her own curiously peered at their own.

   ‘You’re wrong.’ Sandman said and he wiped his bloody nose. He pushed her off and she let him. ‘That’s where our opinions differ.’

   She stared at him, pouted.

   ‘Sis, the foreign man is the “enemy” but… protecting yourself by understanding their culture is another way. Our tribe’s way of thinking won’t work in these times. Everybody thinks we’re being hounded from our ancestor’s land but the foreign man’s basic concept is “money”. There is no such thing as the ancestor’s land anymore. This land belongs to the man with the money.’

   His sister got up and looked disgusted him. It was etched across her clenched eyebrows and coloured her obsidian black eyes. Still, a small part of her was amused by her brother. Somethings didn’t change, apparently.

   ‘You were always like this since you were a child.’ she lamented. ‘Once you’ve decided something, you never cooperate with anyone. That’s why nobody understands what you’re thinking.’

   Sandman got up and held out his hand to her. ‘Hey Sis, let me show you something.’

   His sister was suspicious but he wouldn’t abruptly change the topic like that. It had to be connected to whatever was plaguing his decisions. She wandered closer to him but did not accept his hand. He moved closer towards one of the outcrops and with the hand he had offered her, he rubbed his fingertips over bizarre indentions in the cliff face.

   His fingers ghosted over perfectly spherical indentations. There was a few of them by his hand. She didn’t see what was so special about them but she must admit, it caused her to raise questions. Questions she thought had easy answers.

   Then her eyes continued to wander. It was not “a few” but an innumerable many. She gasped as her eyes traced each hole until she got dizzy from counting just how many there were. Alarm rang in her mind. This could only be the tiding of an ill omen. It was almost certain.

   She placed her hands among the holes and was astounded by how smooth they were. He turned her head to question her brother:

   ‘What are these?’

   ‘I found the two weeks ago. I still don’t know how they were made; they’re too perfectly round to have been scraped or gouged out.’

   ‘Were they made by a tool or by a Pokemon?’ she asked.

   ‘I found the foreign people’s books and discs here.’ Sandman continued. ‘In order to get the imprint of the perfect sphere, an incredible amount of speed would be need. Speed I would assume goes beyond human machinations or the work of Pokemon.’

   His sister’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Foreign people were this close to camp and you never told anyone?’

   ‘Take it easy, this guy was alone. I don’t think he was a bad person. He wasn’t looking to mine or harm anyone or anything.’

   ‘And how would you know that?!’

   ‘He was training.’

   ‘Training?’

   ‘Perfect place for an outsider, wouldn’t you think? Think like them for a moment. It’s basically a wasteland out here.’

   Sandman crouched down. Though it had been a while, there was the mark of foreign foot here: strange lines in the ground that shaped a cladded foot.

   ‘Look here, Sis. Only one set of human tracks; plenty of Pokemon though but I don’t recall what he had collected; I never saw more than one or two with him but look, there’s got to be at least ten types of tracks here – all foreign. Except this mark here.’

   His Sister looked over his shoulder as he indicated a dent in the ground with smaller ones by its side. It looked similar to the ones on the ground but not quite as it had those extra marks. It also was quite shallow.

   ‘He ended up running with something heavy in his hand. Stone or iron, perhaps. See, this is where it gets confusing. In those foreign books, I found schematics for items known as “Pocket Balls” and they’re used to store Pokemon. I won’t believe it ‘til I see it but they’re fragile as anything, easily crushed underfoot or pulled apart because they’re made of something similar to acorns or apricots – Apricorns, I think they’re called – but look at these marks.’

   ‘Perfectly spherical.’ his sister said, her mind flashed to the images she had seen in those books. She wasn’t supposed to have seen them but when Sandman’s charges had come to light, she had gotten the opportunity to see them for herself.

   ‘Yes but like I said, fragile. Whatever this foreign man had, it was nothin’ ordinary like in those books.’

   ‘Why are you telling me this?’ his sister inquired.

   Sandman got up and looked her in the eyes. ‘Sis, I’m going on a journey. I want to say goodbye. I’m not coming back to the village.’

   His Sister quirked an eyebrow. From his concealments on his waist, he pulled out something like a book but thin, torn, and brown-grey in colour. It was covered in words she couldn’t read. She was impressed that her brother had taught himself to.

   ‘This is called a newspaper.’ Sandman informed her. ‘It says, “Steel Ball Race: Opening Prize Money to Be Given to the Winner – 50, 000, 000, 000 PokeYen” and that is more than enough to buy our land back from the foreign men.’

   His sister gasped. Her eyes widened. Her brother reverberated with resolute determination.


	3. VS STAGEFRIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Steel takes Q&A at the Steel Ball Run conference.

    It hadn’t even started yet and it was already a disaster in the making. Perhaps that was why the press swarmed like flies clustered over steamingly fresh faeces. It was because they were expecting a shit show, perhaps. Either way, it was one servant’s duty to inform the fool who started it all of this grim news.

   He entered the sitting room where an idle rich man and his child bride lounged. They were people watching by the window; he was sprawled over a chaise lounge and she was kicking her feet from atop a desk.

   ‘Excuse me,’ he said, breaking the dulcet reverie of the married couple, ‘we’ve had complaints, Mr Steel.’

   Mr Steel grunted. Permission to continue, or so the servant too it.

   ‘The special toilets built on the beach are overflowing with waste. There is a horrible smell and parasites are breeding. A kid even fell into it all. We don’t have enough tents. There was a fire earlier which destroyed some of the ones we previously sent for. We don’t have enough drinking water. The Orientals are killing the local Lillipup populace for eating meats; as well as any that have had the misfortune of wandering from their Trainers. The Alolans are lying on the beach with their dicks and tits out for all the world to see and this is disturbing others of different nationalities. A Luxray and a Garchomp have reportedly escaped from one Trainer’s cages.’

   Mr Steel had been listening with a stern expression but that last complaint ticked him off. His old bones rattled as he ceased resting against his chaise lounge. He pointed at the servant and his eyes glinted dangerously from behind his black sunglasses. His wife stiffened by his side.

   ‘What is a ground type doing on the beach anyway? All Pokemon are to be in their PokeBalls; simple as fucking that! Now, understand that these are not my problems - that’s why I hired you! Don’t bother me with this.’

   ‘But Mr Steel, too many unpredictable events are taking place.’

   Mr Steel clicked his tongue. ‘Bah, whatever. Add another million PokeYen. Do whatever you can and increase security. Go over budget for all I care. And tell those foreigners, if they have to eat dogs and have their privates out, tell them that I don’t care if it's part of their religion or whatever that so long as they are on my beach then my word is law!’

   His wife swallowed. Slowly becoming more nervous than she already was. She watched as the servant squirmed. That was a lot of duty thrust upon him.

   ‘Sir, the Steel Ball Run conference is about to start. You really ought to move.’ the servant concluded.

   ‘Alright. I’ll be there soon.’ Mr Steel said.

   He gazed thoughtfully out of the window. His wife’s eyes followed. From here, they could see the whole stretch of the beach. They could see the azure, rolling waves that foamed madly at their curling crests and the infinite, pale sands and dunes. Or they could if the beach was empty. Countless men and women - Trainers - clustered in makeshift camps along the beach. There was thousands of them and they were all here for one reason. All of them stood around behind the ornate sign with “Steel Ball Run” decorating it as well as some patterns.

   These countless people donned the attire appropriate of racers: large brimmed hats and spurs on their boots. They looked fierce and intimidating from afar. All of them had greed and determination in their eyes: apparent even from a distance with how distrusting their demeanour was.

   More people continued to file through beneath that sign, Mr Steel observed. He took a breath and his wife drew in nearer. She sat down next to him. He took a deeper breath and levee broke. He began to cry, trembling with fear, and hugged her. He nuzzled against her bosom. She stroked his back and did her best to comfort him.

   ‘What am I gonna do? I’m so scared! What’s gonna happen if the race goes baaaaaaad? What if the race falls apart?’

   He wept unto her chest. She soothingly hushed him, rocked him as she would a sibling.

   ‘It’s alright, Stephen. You’ve been a promoter for forty years. Believe in yourself; do your best. Everything will be fine, my dear.’ she spoke to him softly.

   He looked up at her and smiled faintly. ‘Alright, my dear, I will do my best.’

   She smiled back fondly.

   A few minutes later and it was like Mr Steel’s bawling had never happened. Not a scant tear upon his face or redness to his eyes. He was professional. Calm. In control. He sat at the middle seat at the conference panel where countless people with eager eyes watched him with questions upon their wagging tongues.

   ‘Mr Stephen Steel!’ a voice rang out and Mr Steel greeted the man with a nod. ‘About the “Steel Ball Race” that begins in two days, you have repeatedly explained this before but given this is Q&A, explain it again for readers across the world!’

   The press buzzed. Mr Steel was in no hurry. He didn’t care that he had explained it previously before. All for the readers of the world, he supposed. Besides, he and his crew had been anticipating such a question. Before he could speak, someone unfurled a marked map of Unova behind him.

  ‘The Steel Ball Race will start at ten a.m, September twenty-fifth, 1890 on the Ficapica Beach of Virbank City. The goal will be Humilau City, making it mankind’s first crossing of Unova by mount - with a twist!

   ‘The route plotted is roughly six thousand kilometres and includes all sorts of terrains. Along this route, eight people will be stationed at different locations. The members of this race will have to battle them in order to earn a token of victory known as a “Badge”. The person with either all the badges or the most badges and  arrives first automatically 50, 000, 000, 000 PokeYen deposited straight into their bank account! And the right to battle President Funny Valentine and accept the mantle of Unova’s first ever Champion and be allowed to instate whomever they wish as their subordinates as the Elite four – should they win, of course!

   ‘Second place will receive 10, 000, 000, 000, third place will receive 100, 000, 000 PokeYen, fourth place will receive 250, 000, and fifth place 120, 000, 000. Read the rulebook for further details.

   Mr Steel’s voice boomed throughout the audience. Greed ravaged the atmosphere. Photographers dazzled the stony-faced man and other panelists. Mr Steel paused and let the crowd settle once more.

   ‘Let’s move onto questions!’ he barked.

   A different journalist piped up: ‘Tell us about the sponsors of this competition!’

   A crewman standing behind Mr Steel spoke on his behalf. He had a notepad and in it was a list of sponsors.

   ‘For starters, your news company. Others include respective publishing chains, hotel groups such as Virbank City Beach Hotel, B&C Meat Packing, Winchespin firearm production, Vertical Continental Railroad Corp., and Speedwagon Oil Corp. Many other corporations across Unova have also assisted this competition.’

   ‘Baron Herrison of Kalos Royalty, has announced participation in this competition via a machine called an “automobile”.’ someone from the mid-section yelled.

   ‘...Er yes, I approved that.’ Mr Steel said. ‘This race’s identity is that of pioneering spirit. A race for the championships… the likes the world has never seen before! Be it with machine or mount, no human has ever raced with such conditions: no rest, seventy to one hundred kilometers per day for a distance of six thousand kilometers just to reach the deadline of Christmas Day; not to mention the challenges along the way, as prepared by President Valentine’s chosen Leaders!’ Mr Steel announced.

   His passion was as fervent as a flame. His eyes lit up like embers. The news reporters were shocked to say the least. He raved like a mad man but his nonsense had them exciting. It would most certainly make for interesting competition.

   ‘Are mount Pokemon even capable of making such distances?’ someone inquired from the back.

   ‘We can’t predict that.’ Mr Steel with a shrug. ‘There are records of a Mudsdale who did one-hundred-and-fifty kilometers in a day and it was its rider that died of exhaustion. This was during 1851. Still, to cover the distance sixty-to-eighty days is not nearly as unreasonable as you may believe; though, the switching of mount Pokemon is prohibited. Mount Pokemon are however disqualified from participating in any Leader battles, of course.’

   ‘There are some complaints about the 12, 000 PokeYen entry fee. That’s a month salary! You’re basically running a moneymaking racket.’

   ‘Not true. For the competitors, we will provide bed and board in many hotels, medical expenses for them and their Pokemon, as well as more food than they can eat. We all supply that. That’s where the fee comes from.’ Mr Steel explained.

   ‘Given that the race is a sport, are weapons permitted?’ another reported inquired, almost shyly as though it were taboo to mention.

   Mr Steel grunted and grumbled. ‘Hm, the 2nd Amendment permits the right to bear arms. We can’t take that away with our rules. One might have to spend time in unsavoury camps here and there; with vagrants and untamed monsters.... As long as it is not “criminal behaviour”, we don’t care. However, they are strictly forbidden once a battle between Pokemon has started. No aiming at the foe or their Pokemon. Simple as that. But overall, the answer is yes. But they are to be provided by oneself.’

   ‘Tell us about some of the favourites to win in this competition!’

   That got the crowd excited. Everyone had their own idea as to who was their ideal Champion, their ideal Pokemon master. This was to be a person to represent Unova on the global stage, they couldn’t just be anyone and yet, there was no limit on country of origin for Unova was, supposedly, a united front welcoming anyone and everyone.

   ‘Mountain Tim, home grown from Unova’s very own Driftveil City; he’s quite the looker. His ace Pokemon is nicknamed “Oh Lonesome Me” and is a mighty fine Simisage specimen; rumour has it that it displays a hidden ability.

   ‘From abroad, we have three hot favourites. Firstly, mounted on the back of a Camerupt is Hoenn native, Urmd Abdul. He has tempered himself and his team in unforgivable mountain range of Mt Chimney, the flaming Fiery Path, and in the scorched deserts of Route 111.

   ‘Secondly, there is the equestrian master from the mid east: Johtoan native, Dot Han. Supposedly a member of the bloodline that conquered the Johto-Kanto regions centuries ago! He prides himself on having Pokemon only native to Johto.

   ‘Third, the man who is last but not least, is a genius jockey from Kalos: Diego Brando, commonly named as “Dio”. Despite being of low birth, his hard work in the Battle chateau has earned him many ranks and his work with mounted Pokemon is comparable to none; however, he may have a cross-country weakness undiscovered until now. Only time will tell. He runs a very peculiar team; only the rarest of the rare suits a man like him so he battles with many pseudo-legendary Pokemon as well as restored fossils!’

   ‘Hang on, why’re there so many favourites from overseas? Shouldn’t our first Champion be someone born and bred in Unova?’ an outraged reported cried from the middle of the pack.

   ‘Wrong!’ Mr Steel bellowed. ‘Kalosian people brought themselves here in 1607 to colonise the land, land they believed to have belonged to no one because they did not respect the customs of the native Unovans. However, through adversity, Unova has grown to become united: hence, Unova! A new unification! It would be un-Unovan to dissallow our brothers and sisters from overseas to not compete since only the Isshu folk are truly born and bred here; the rest of us have merely sought home here out of hope and adventure. Therefore, the Steel Ball Run will permit entrance from all nationalities!’

   No one protested Mr Steel’s interpretation of Unova’s birth as a nation.

   ‘The distance is tremendous… If no one gets to the finish line before the deadline, what happens then? What happens to Unova’s first Champion?’ a petrified reporter from the back corner yelled; his voice trembled. ‘That’d make this competition a failure. The sponsors would be furious. And there will be a lack of trust in future competitions such as these to garner a Champion, what happens then? How will you take responsibility for such foolishness?’

   ‘I might be eliminated.’ Mr Steel said grimly.

   His darling child bride lifted her head, worried but she also seemed calm.

   ‘Huh?’ the reporter blinked.

   ‘That was a joke.’ Mr Steel informed his audience.

   His wife breathed a sigh of relief.

   ‘Listen closely! Failure is… forgetting the pioneer spirit and forgoing the challenge and hardship. We will have a Champion, I am certain. In this race, there will be countless adventurers and whilst one may rise above the rest, there will be no failure! Failure is only forgetting the adventure, the journey and all it brings! The “Steel Ball Run” will be a challenge the likes of the world has never seen before!’ Mr Steel bellowed.

   Applause resounded through the luxuriant room. Flashes of photography went off. The reporters were satisfied with such an answer; even though it evaded the question. With it, the Q&A was brought to a halt but the panel remained seated until there was one reporter.

   He drew closer with a whisper. His eyes dark and glinting. He licked his lips.

   ‘One more question.’ he begged even though he was about to be chased off by the hired help. ‘Is the person behind you your wife? I’ve heard she is fourteen.’

   Mr Steel whinnied like a Zebstrika with repulsion. ‘That has nothing to do with this race. This interview is over.’

   His wife was not fourteen. She was fifteen. She was to turn sixteen on Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aged up Lucy for plot reasons. You'll thank me waaayyy later.  
> Also, I'm a little dumb with money so if that's inconsistent let me know because I'm trying to convert it to PokeYen by adding random zeroes.


	4. VS STEPHEN STEEL'S PAST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An investigation into the life that Stephen Steel has led the events which ultimately lead to the conception of the Steel Ball Run.

    His darling child bride was not his first love. However, she was much inspiration for his passions in his current life. In his former life, he had a former love. His passions, strangely enough, remain unchanged though their fuel and ignition has.

   The story of Stephen Steel, the man whose mind birthed the concept of the Steel Ball Run, is as follows.

   Stephen was born in Castelia City, 1840. He was the fourth child out of seven to a migrant Kantonese family. They had changed their family name from “Hagane” upon immigrating. This would be to improve their chances of success in the new world and reduce othering as Kanto was considered to be a hotbed of poverty. Stephen’s family, unfortunately, contributed to that stereotype; as sick as it sounds. His father was a poor blacksmith but he loved his family very much. Whilst they were in poverty in terms of wealth, they were rich in bonds and closeness. Nevertheless, Stephen would one day grow estranged from his family.

   When Stephen was fifteen, he caught his first Pokemon and the eye of a girl. He and her had met each other when they were chasing the same Pansage through the streets of the southern gate of Castelia City; close to Pinwheel forest. It was a silly way to meet but thanks to that Pansage, which Stephen would successfully catch and he would also fall in love with that rival of a girl he had encountered.

   When they had met, she was bashful at first. She said she was glad though, that he had caught the Pansage and not her. She said if she had caught it, it would have been scolded severely and would not like being her partner as a result. She explained that it was a naughty thief who was hindering her family’s business as it had realised that there were “free meals” outside of their shop. So, she was gladdened that someone like Stephen had caught it.

   The young girl of his sage was the beautiful daughter of a florist. Her name was Hikari and she was also of Kantonese background. What began as friendship soon turned to something else; something romantic. The love was requited and the two began to court each other. They vowed to be together forever.

   Hikari had a smile that was as gentle as moonlight. Her eyes twinkled as though they had stars in them; not to mention the inky blue-black they were. She had such gorgeous eyes. They were framed by stunningly long, dark eyelashes and pale skin. She had peachy lips; perfect for kissing, Stephen would know. The hair around her hair, a pale gold, fell in free-spirited cascades. She was a lovely young lady.

   But this love was not to be. Hikari’s young life was claimed in a carriage accident. In a cruel twist of fate, Hikari’s life, the light of Stephen’s youth, was extinguished. From this, he would fall into a deep despair. A despair so irreversible, he believed, that he vowed to never fall in love with anyone else for Hikari could only ever be his one, true love.

   Thus, he joined the Unovan cavalry. Upon entering the brigade, he was gifted a gorgeous Rapidash with a skittish disposition. By age sixteen, he was already one-hundred-and-ninety centimetres tall and on the back of his mount, he could pass as a commander. Beneath the shadows of his hat, he had that stony look about him; like he could make the hard decisions in life. Whether or not he could never arose as Stephen was never sent to war or posted as an expeditionary member. In fact, for two years, he was only ever sent to Liberty Garden and it was on account of his typhoid fever: the reason he had never been officially posted anywhere.

   Liberty Garden had, for the few years, been the playground of an ultra rich family. They had purchased the land in 1812 but were in the middle of arranging its new developments; they had magnificent and expensive ideas about a private lighthouse. For a handsome return, the family had permitted the government use of the land as a hospital; so long as it was protected at all times. These were uncertain times, after all. The fifth Unovan President had only just been elected and there was still much settlement to do. However, the times were not nearly as uncertain as this family feared.

   For the duration of Stephen’s hospice at Liberty Garden, nothing had happened. For all intents and purposes, Liberty Garden was, essentially, a deserted island. And due to the solidification of Unova as a nation, although tensions between other regions and internal areas was fierce, nothing erupted from it. So, after the two years Stephen spent on Liberty Garden with typhoid fever, he retired from the cavalry.

   Between Stephen’s pathetic stint as a cavalryman and the commencing of the Steel Ball Run race, there is an interesting gap of thirty-five years. There is, of course, correlation - if you would be so kind as to ponder the timeline.

   1858, at age eighteen, Stephen is let out of the hospital in low spirits. His special talent is being able to swallow things and manipulate them so they fallout his nose. Using this talent, Stephen gets work at a circus and by playing up his Kantonese ancestry, he became a hit.

   1859, at age nineteen, Stephen has truly become the star of the circus.

   1860, at age twenty, Stephen tours across Unova with the circus.

   1861, at age twenty-one, Stephen introduces more acts to the circus. He introduces shows as such “Midget Women Wrestling”, “The Bug Eyed Man”, and “Pignites on a Tightrope”. These shows become instant hits for Stephen and their circus.

   1862, at age twenty-two, Stephen is fired. His head is swollen and he’s become too big for his breaches. Stephen begins to order around the other acts as though headmaster. This arrogance infuriates those around him. He gets into an irreconcilable fight with the management of the circus and is promptly fired despite the money he has brought to the circus.

   Skipping ahead three years, Stephen became a heavyweight boxer at age twenty-five during the year 1865 but it’s not to the only way he puts the talents he’s learned from it do.

   1866, at age twenty-six, Stephen accepts a companion position as a debt collector.

   1867, at age twenty-seven, Stephen ignores a pre-rigged match he has been set up with as part of his boxing gig. Rather than taking the money and losing, Stephen chooses to beat his opponent senseless. For this impudence, he is punished by the gang which had rigged the match and had employed him as a debt collector. His punishment was a gunshot through his right knee.

   1868, age twenty-eight, Stephen disappears. One theory is that he escaped overseas as a sailor to avoid any further hunting from the gang. He isn’t seen again, at least as a confirmed sighting, until 1881; at age forty-one.

   At this age, Stephen reappeared in Nimbasa City. He reported immediately to the press, to the Nimbasa Items, that he is going to leave on a journey to Alola in search of living fossil Pokemon. The idea, no undoubtedly, sparked by the scientific race across the regions on who could complete the first fossil restoration device. Of course, being the eccentric he was, Stephen was determined to believe somewhere, in some ancient plain of Poni Canyon or den inside of Lush Jungle, fossil Pokemon lived as alive as any other.

   Stephen was unsuccessful in this endeavour and has sunk two years of his life and funds into this absurd expedition.

   1883, at age forty-three, Stephen dubbed himself as a “promoter”. Every story he sensationalised became a hit. Everything from “Searching for a Red Gyarados” to “Capturing an Abomasnow in a Blizzard” to “Looking for a Twenty-Metre Long Empoleon” as well as “The Newlyweds in a Haunted Mansion: a Documentary”. All of these news titles and more. Everything Stephen sells, becomes a sensation and an utter hit. He has a natural propensity for it.

   1886, at age forty-six, Stephen has made more than enough in his fortune to do what his poor family could only dream of in their sleep: he bought a mansion in Undella Town and hired eight servants to staff it. From thereon, the reality and illusion of wealth inspired Stephen to take up new hobbies. He began collecting art pieces from only the most famous artistic folk. He also applies for a place in Lacunosa Town University but is denied.

   But one day, in his name, someone tried to spin a story about sparkling aliens that had crash landed in Unova. In reality, the creature this man tried to fool people with was a shaved and abused Pansage. Though Stephen had no connection to this story, he was labelled a fraud regardless. He was soon treated as a petty scammer because of the scandal.

   He had these wonderfully, imaginative ideas about proper stories and fictions but after that false connection between him and the alien scam, no one wanted to listen to him anymore. Slowly, his business went under. He was forced to sell his mansion and sack his servants.

   Stephen began to return to the despair that had plagued his youth in the wake of his beloved Hikari’s death but he refused to bow to the weight of such depression. He thought about the cavalry and all his journeys: the journeys that had brought him to where he was today; where he had been before the scandal. He thought about his partner Pokemon; getting on in years now, beginning to succumb to their own mortalities.

   The image of a Trainer on a mount meant a lot to Stephen. That image of a cavalryman had delivered him from his adolescence to his adulthood. It gave him an idea. A great idea; especially since there were four intense words inked across every newspaper and inside the mouths of every gossiper on the street.

   Unova wanted a Champion.

   A Trainer to unify a dividing region and a Trainer to embrace the seamless merging of regions abroad.

   And so, Stephen Steel came up with a marvellous idea. He should organise an enormous obstacle race. From this race, that Trainer - that Champion - would emerge from the adversity and prove their strength.

   But his reliability was at an all time low. He was but a mere, bumbling drunk fool on the streets. He wore shoes wherein his toes hung out over the rubbery grip. He wore holey coats and smashed glasses. He had no respectability whatsoever.

   Not having eaten in days with a syrup brown bottle of spilt liquor by his feet, Stephen hung his head. His dreams would just be that: dreams. Beautiful, bizarre, ephemeral dreams that didn’t correlate to reality. He sat on a dingy kerb of a city street. He mumbled to himself.  

  "‘A dream I have, a dream I have, buggrit… I want a huuuuge race… an, um, uh, obstacle race! Trainers from across the land… no! The world! Make Unova proud… make ya Mamas proud, dammit!"

   Next to him, sat a young girl. She had bright, curious eyes. His strange ideas caught her attention. She was soon enamoured by these slurred ideas and words even though they came from an old and drooling drunkard of a man.

   "If you're going to plan a race," she said, a touch uppity as she was ignorant to Stephen’s story and most of the workings of the real world, "it should definitely take place from across Unova. The winnings should be huuuge too. At least 50, 000, 000, 000 PokeYen! Real dreams should be that big!"

   Stephen looked up. He faintly saw the girl who had sat next to him. Out of pity? Out of curiosity?

   But, in his hazy and liquored up state, he continued to dance with his dreams as encouraged by this lass. If he looked the part of a cliff-side fool, then he would certainly act the part in his blundering stupor. He picked himself off the ground. He reeked. He grabbed onto street lamp and hung off it like in a pantomime of a wondrously choreographed stage dancer. But that mimicry of cheer turned to rage before he could even playfully jab at this girl’s thoughts on his dreams.

   "What idiot would sponsor such a stupid proposal like that? Go away! Leave me alone!" Stephen screamed.

   The girl did not so much as blink at Stephen’s tantrum.

   Stephen wandered off thereafter. He then returned to his favourite bar, drank too much again, and consequently got into a fight. A fight that he lost but at least not to the expense of any injuries. Just his pride. He wound up asleep behind the urinals at the bar.

   The next day when he woke up, he was ushered awake by a group of men. They held their hands out to him. Their voices were fuzzy and murky. Their faces confusing in the noon light; dizzying for the terribly hungover Stephen. Though they crowded him with seemingly stern faces, Stephen could sense they meant no harm. Nevertheless, he was prepared to fight them.

   "What do ya want, huh? You wanna go?" his words slurred; became empty threats despite his weakly balled fist.

   "We want to hear your story… this idea of yours, about a cross-Unovan race as a means of electing a Champion. We want in." A grin split across the face of the man talking. "We’re with the Nimbasa Items. And we know a sponsor who would be interested in such bloodsport. Hell, we’re willing to sponsor such a bloodsport."

   "What?"

   Stephen couldn’t believe his ears. His eyes widened as he lowered his guard. He was enchanted by the business proposal. And from his old friends at Nimbasa Items no less.

   Somehow, literally overnight, Stephen’s story became a sensational rumour. Myth and idea became misconstrued fact. The story spread and spread and became all the more misunderstood from its origin as it continued onwards and outwards by word of mouth alone. People truly thought he was going to be putting on a huge race as a method of electing a Champion with a legitimate 50, 000, 000, 000 PokeYen prize at the end of it. And that the race would be put on in two years’ time.

   Through a miraculous second chance, this dream of Stephen’s gained enough momentum to become a reality. It was only two years later though that Stephen remembered. He remembered the little girl who no doubt had been the one to tattle his tales to her friends and had begun the rumour that would become the Steel Ball Race.

   He looked to the sky and remembered her wistfully. The girl he had met in the street who had given him the chance to make this all real, he really ought to go and thank her. Or so he thought to himself as her visage seemed to become reminiscent of the clouds. Tumultuous and ever changing. All in all, hard to remember the exact shape and form of.

   So, Stephen sought her out. And when he finally found her, she was all grown up; at least compared to her when she was the girl he had met in the street that fateful day. But it was the face and body and hair that she had grown into that had shocked Stephen the most. There was to be no mistaking it. She was the exact image of his late love from when he had been a young man. She looked just like her: his Hikari.

  Or at least that’s how it seemed to Stephen’s old and weary eyes. He truly was a dreamer through and through.

   But she wasn’t. There was no mistaking it either. This girl was not the one had loved all those years ago. She was different. She had a different nationality – Kalosian – and a different origin to come with it and, most importantly, a different personality and a different name.

   Like a rose, a name by any other just as a sweet… Her name was Lucy Pendleton.

   Upon meeting this girl a second time, he wept. There was no controlling how he bawled in front of her. He was an utter mess with tears streaming down his cheeks like a pair of rivers from his eyes. Though he wanted them to stop, though he begged them to stop, there was no stopping these tears. Stephen had not cried for thirty-four years and yet, he completely sobbed in front of this girl.

   And so, before her and her father, he got down on one knee. He removed his hat and placed it over his heart. And this was how it came to be, his new fantasy.

   "This may sound insane,’ he lamented with a wobbly voice drenched in sincerity, but I want you to let me marry your daughter. I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to wait my whole life for her. But please, allow me to marry your daughter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am dumb with numbers so if the years a little off, blame Araki because according to him, this man who was like 51 in 1890 was apparently born 1804.


	5. VS CURRENCY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a simple introduction sparked from careful eyed curiosity, something far more powerful than these young men realise will begin to form. The cogs of fate long begun turning and finally, their mechanisations begin to draw in.

   Gold coins splattered over a wooden counter. A mysterious stranger’s hand shifted through them to prove they were all legitimate and that they would add up to the sum needed. The clerk scooped them up greedily and he did indeed confirm the sum. He squinted at this fellow.

   'The 12, 000 entry fee is paid. There are to be no returns or refunds if you drop out of the race. The start of the race will be held in two days’ time regardless of happenstance. Please sign here.’

   The clerk pushed forth the waiver. The stranger signed it. He had fanciful handwriting. He was definitely foreign though. There was an uncertainty to his lettering which marked him as slightly unused to the characters used. The manager looked over the name. A funny name. He was definitely a foreigner; he didn’t even have to check the region of origin section on the form. The manager accepted it as legitimate then pushed forth another piece of paper.

   'Now, please record here what Pokemon you intend use throughout this race as well as which Pokemon will be designated as your mount. Your mount does not count as part of your team or team reserves.’ the pudgy clerk informed.

   From beneath the counter, he selected a mint green form as a plastic case. He let the fellow write out whatever was necessary. As the manager awaited for the second half of the forms to be filled out, something out be this stranger’s outfit caught his eye. He had bizarre PokeBalls holstered down his chest; against a vibrantly purple shirt. They were green and metallic. He wondered what sort of fool - or genius, if it worked - got Apricorns plated.

   'This is your Trainer identification sheet. Your identification number is B-636. It also includes your commemorative medal and your badge case. Keep these safe. There will be no replacement.’

   A moment passed and he finished up. They exchanged forms. The stranger stowed his things and the manager looked up; hoping that he wouldn’t have to end up shooing the man off given that their business was over. The stranger grinned keenly: a golden mouth as he wore an obnoxious grille. He chuckled to himself - a funny “Nyo ho ho” sound - and he hooked his thumbs over his belt. A belt with a golden buckle that managed to be even more obnoxious than his grille as they were engraved with hands pointed like guns, and in direction of his crotch.

   'Thank you.’

   A thick accent marked his words but turned them lyrical and lilting.

   A sickly looking man approached the stranger and the counter. His greedy hands reached for the strange spheres holstered to this fellow’s belt. His fingers practically twitched as they entered the stranger’s personal space.

   'Never seen PokeBalls like these before…’ the sickly-looking man commented. His fingers grazed over them and something odd happened.

   The man was twisted down as though someone had taken him by his arm, yanked him backwards, and into the ground. The man yelped in pain; yelling about his legs. The stranger protectively looked over these PokeBalls of his. Disgust rippled through his strong face.

   'What the hell, man? I was only tryin’ to make small talk!’ he yelled as he gripped onto his legs.

    'Is that so…?’

    'Wait, excuse me, sir!’ the clerk piped up.

   The stranger lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow; he was fully expecting some sort of scolding since it was unbecoming to roughhouse like this in public.

   'You’re missing two hundred.’ the clerk informed.

   'Must’ve counted wrong, clerk. I definitely paid you in full.’

   'I double checked. I’ve made no mistake.’

   'Can I get any discounts?’

   'Of course not! Does this look like a general store to you?’

   The stranger turned his attention back to the man who was on his knees.

   'So it was you, you damned pickpocket.’

   He grabbed onto the man’s hand and pushed him into the dirt. It puffed up and spiralled around him. The veins in that man’s arm throbbed and became prominent; even though it looked as though the stranger towering over him had such a loose grip.

    'Give me back the money you stole or else I won’t be able to enter the race.’ He continued to strengthen his grip on the man and his arm twisted unnaturally. It didn’t break but it was close. ‘I won’t be able to enter the race, would I?’

   The man threatened with a leering laugh following his words. He twisted the man’s arm. The bones began to creak. His veins popped beneath his skin. He whimpered. The man flashed his gold teeth. He was an eccentric but a scary one.

   And throughout the entire region, strange money rules like king. Even the lazy bow to it. On a ranch somewhere near Nuvema Town, a father and son come to discuss the coins they use to earn their keep on the land they had been provided.

   'What are you doing, Pocoloco?’

   For autumn, September was lovely in the mid-afternoon. A pleasant breeze whistled through; shook the bright green grass and whispered sweet nothings against a gorgeous sky. Azure as anything and just as free. It was beautiful even with the streaks of milk white clouds going through. It was a lovely day to do nothing at all, from the side of the road anyway. Unfortunately, harvest said otherwise.

   'Jus’... countin’ the clouds.’ Pocoloco replied.

   Arms beneath his head, propping him, Pocoloco couldn’t be more comfortable than as he was now. He rested on a collection of newspapers and anything else could find to soften the ground beneath him. His father looked onto him with disappointment; wondering where this young man, no longer a boy and hadn’t been one physically for much time, had gotten this slothful streak from.

   'Despite the revolution twenty years ago, men like us haven’t gotten it any easier. People like me and my dead grandfather. Life will never be easy.’ Pocoloco’s father lamented.

   Pocoloco looked outwards, unto the greater stretch of land. He turned his nose up at the idea of hard work and history.

   'No way, man. From now on, I’m gonna take life easy. You should too.’ Pocoloco decided.’

   The Miltank that was pulling along the plough flicked its tail. She made odd grunting noises of displeasure then excreted by the plough. His father gave up on trying to discipline it and its son so he had let both do as it please. Pocoloco got up and he gave a look of displeasure at the mess the Miltank had made then laid down again. He pointed at the plough Miltank was pulling along.

   'Hey Pops, I reckon you should loosen the belt on that poor Miltank. She’s tryin’ to conserve energy so she can produce Eggs.’ Pocoloco said.

   His father stared cynically at his son and then back to the Miltank. The Miltank cooed and he shook his head. There had been a slight note of dull pain to the creature’s voice so he gave it a try. He loosened the notch on its belt by one slot and already, his Miltank was making sweeter sounds than before. Perhaps it had been in some sort of pain but the affairs of breeding was beyond him but Miltank Eggs to sell wouldn’t be half bad so he mustered up some hope.

   Pocoloco yawned. ‘Darn, now I’ve lost count of the clouds. Which one was the forty-eighth again?’

   Pocoloco turned over and pulled out the newspaper beneath him. He flicked through it idly whilst swinging his legs behind him; like a child.

   'You know, I talked it over with the landlord. Reckons he might bump up our monthly pay from ten grand to twelve.’ Pocoloco’s father said, trying to make idle conversation.

   His Miltank continued to waddle through the fields with the plough in tow. It was certainly making better pace now.  
The numbers caught Pocoloco’s attention. A thick eyebrow drew upwards as greed sparkled in his eyes.

   'How much did you say to pay for the farm altogether?’ Pocoloco asked.

   However, back in Virbank City, close to the Ficapica Beach, gold coins were returned to an eccentric and handsome stranger. And they were returned to him by a sickly pickpocket.

   'Hey!’ the clerk shouted. ‘That man did steal your remaining fee; I’m callin’ the Sherif!’

   The pickpocket was then accosted by men in green jackets who seemed to belong to a larger force than themselves. No doubt coppers the clerk called. The stranger stroked his strange balls and holstered them safely where they belonged; down his chest and off his belt. The pickpocket’s heavy and terrified breaths punctuated the close air.

   'Ah, deal with that later. Just take my money and give me my receipt; and don’t address to “sir”.’

   The stranger picked up his coins with a peculiar chuckle. Having dealt with that mess, the stranger was free to go. With his things, such as a bag and saddle, slung over his back akimbo, he was free to go and go he did.

   He wandered off, taking in the sights and sounds: he was that idle about it, like a tourist. Unfortunately, though he was done with the pickpocket, the pickpocket was not done with him.

   The pickpocket poorly attempted to resist arrest. He kicked up dirt and dust as he flailed around.

   'Hey, hey! Those are your weapons aren’t they? Those weird balls?’ he yelled at the stranger. ‘Well, go ahead, kill me then!’

   The policemen continued to restrain him but the pickpocket made for the gun he had stowed away beneath his dirty shirt. The pickpocket vaguely freed himself and his gun was almost at blanc point. Its nozzle picking up long hairs from the stranger’s head.

   'Ha! You're dead!’ the man yelled, almost crazed.

   The stranger stiffened but remained calm.

   Not a second later, the pickpocket was restrained again by the policemen. They disarmed him but he continued to rave.

   'If I had felt like it, you’d be dead!’ he yelled between cackles. ‘Perceptive but an easy kill!’

   The pickpocket had his face put to the ground. Someone’s boot rested on his cheek. Despite being utterly restrained, he continued to spout nonsense.

   'You think you're big over two hundred? Bah! I’ll repay you for this humiliation; I’ll stalk you! I’m gonna enter the race and stalk you!’

   That intrigued the stranger. He turned around. ‘The race, eh? Alright, we’ll settle this by the race’s rules. No guns, no weapons. Just our Pokemon, ya hear? It’s all good, coppers, you can let him go for this unless he tries somethin’.’

   The stranger stared coldly into the eyes of the pickpocket. The pickpocket stopped squirming but he grinned with much feral ferocity. No doubt eager to win and then whip out that flintlock of his again.

   The commotion soon brought the attention to them. The policemen were hesitant but when two eyes locked a battle was to begin. Those were the rules in the rule book and the rule book was basically a second bible to them on this godforsaken beach.

   The commotion also drew in the attention of women and children… even a strange young man barred from it all due to his wheelchair. Nevertheless, that youth in the wheelchair persisted against the others who were making it very difficult for him to get a view.

   'What the hell was that noise? Let me through!’ the lad yelled. ‘I can’t see what’s in front of me, ya jerks!’

   He tried to wade through the thick bodies of people circling the commotion. By then, it had already started - or was just about to, anyway.

   The stranger stared down the pickpocket. The stranger gave off a powerful aura and the pickpocket was beginning to regret his choices.

   'You sure, pal? I was only joking.’

   'The rules state once our eyes lock, we are to battle. On this beach, that is law.’

   'Ha, ha… true.’

   The pickpocket got to his feet. He was in shambles.

   The sheriff fixed his bolo tie. ‘You heard ‘im, you challenged ‘im, now you battle ‘im. I’ll ref, make sure this doesn’t get out of hand. One Pokemon each; battle ‘til the other faints.’

   The stranger and the pickpocket chose their Pokemon. The stranger handled one of his strange green balls whilst the pickpocket used standard fare: a Level Ball fashioned from the shell of a red Apricorn.

   'Honchkrow!’

   'Custard Pie!’

   The Trainers threw out their PokeBalls but in very different ways. The pickpocket had a standard way of throwing: over the shoulder. His Honchkrow unfurled its wings and manifested from seemingly thin air. The PokeBall was bounced back off of it and returned safely to its Trainer.

  The stranger, meanwhile, had a more unusual way of throwing his PokeBall. It caught the eye and curiosity. His arm had swung from the side. His fingers caged his strange green PokeBall delicately. A flick of the wrist and from it, a magnificent spin was released. The PokeBall spiralled and twirled in the air; it opened from the vertical rather than the horizontal. From it, came a foreboding figure: a tall Ursaring. Some sort of trick of the eye took place. It seemed as though some sort of energy was being given off by the Ursaring: energy that twisted the air and its body.

   It stood proudly before its master and growled. The Honchkrow yapped back; chuffed up its feathers and its pride. Both Pokemon awaited orders from their Trainers.

   'Swords Dance!’ the stranger yelled.

   His Ursaring gritted itself and yelled. From around it, the spiralling energy burst to life: vivacious and visible to all. A Swords Dance like this had never been performed before. The light, steely yet opaque, faded. The Ursaring’s claws seemed to glitter sharper than before. The spiral and spin from it seemed to have faded also and yet, the effects lingered and remaining like a threatening spook.

   'Wi-Wing Attack!’ the pickpocket yelled.

   His Honchkrow swooped forth. Its wings flared. Its inky, blue-black feathers gleamed in the sunlight. It circled back then tried to barge past Ursaring. The Ursaring stood its ground and unflinchingly took the attack. Its Trainer whistled, impressed. The Ursaring did not appear to have taken damage.

   The Honchkrow’s Trainer whimpered. The people watching blinked and murmured among themselves. What a tough Ursaring, they were thinking. What a tough Trainer, they were thinking.

   'Stone Edge!’

   Light blue rings of light encircled Ursaring’s body as it let out a ferocious roar. A deafening roar that caused grass underfoot to tremble, even. It raised its shoulders and strained its voice. From beneath the ground, a spiral of rocks erupted. Sharp, pointed, and dangerous. The erupted in a spiral like pattern and with the speed they had ruptured the earth with, it was like they too had spun. It was bizarre.

   The rocks reached up and caught the low-flying Honchkrow in this midst. It was trapped between the solid planks of rocks. It struggled and flapped its wings; only furthering its exhaustion and nearing the stranger’s win. The rocks slid down and released the bird.

   With a weary beat of its wings, the bird collapsed. It fell inelegantly from the air. Puffs of dust spiralled out from beneath its body. Its eyes spun. It made pained, cooing noises. From beneath its wings, it bled; pierced by the pointed stones that had attacked it.

   The stranger smiled to himself. The people who had watched applauded. The pickpocket returned his fainted Honchkrow to its PokeBall. The policemen forced him to pay up the loser’s fee and then arrested him once more. His loss didn’t cancel out the fact he had pickpocketed from the strange fellow.

   The stranger, whilst that happened and whilst the crowds dispersed as the entertainment had stopped, approached his Ursaring. Though having a grumpy brow, the Ursaring appeared to lighten up as its Trainer gave it much affection.

   'Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You are Custard, you are Custard Pie, my boy!’ the Trainer cooed as he ruffled up the fur atop of Ursaring’s head.

   Only one youth remained from the audience now gone. The lad in the wheelchair remained. He wheeled through, panickedly, and almost barrelled over anyone who lingered between him and that mysterious man.

   'Out of my way, out of my way!’ he yelled.

   He was starstruck, to say the least. There was something bizarre about the way that man battled and it put a fire in his belly. He pointed at the Ursaring. He was breathless when he arrived by the stranger’s side.

   'Alright, that’s enough love and attention for now.’ the stranger told his Ursaring. ‘Return.’

   He held out the green, mysterious PokeBall. Jagged shafts of light that spun out from the PokeBall and captured the Ursaring, it disappeared. That PokeBall most certainly opened on its side.

   'Hey you!’ he piped up, frantic. ‘That weird PokeBall… that thing - that Swords Dance - what was that?’

   The lad in the wheelchair surprised the stranger to say the least. He half turned and the lad in the wheelchair reached out for the PokeBall. His fingers grazed its side as it was unprotected. Something mysterious shot through him and he got to his legs. It didn’t feel like adrenaline or anything similar but just… pure energy.

   'Hey, don’t touch that! It’s still spinning!’ the stranger yelled.

   The youth felt as though his fingers could have bled from just touching it, and yet the man was letting it spin on his palm without issue.

   The stranger ripped his hand back and the lad fell from his wheelchair. It toppled over and he ended up face first in the dirt.

   'My name is Johnny Joestar…’

   The stranger lifted an eyebrow; hands on his hips. He didn’t quite look down on the poor lad but with something else. Like he sensed that something larger than life was about to unravel from a simple introduction he thought he wanted no part in. But, having accidentally tipped a disabled youth out of his wheelchair, perhaps he ought to hear it and get the chance to apologise.

   What seemed like an insignificant encounter between a stranger and another face in the crowd had begun to turn. It had begun to grow and spin stronger: enough to entwine their destinies. This will be the story of learning to walk once more. Not just from one life stage to another but in a physical sense.

  Ideally, anyway.


	6. VS JOHNNY'S PRIDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Johnny ponders how such a meeting could occur when his circumstances seriously stunted his once successful life.

   Looking back, it feels odd for such a meeting to have taken place. All things considered, Johnny Joestar had not been meant to be on that beach in the first place. Not with the events and circumstances that had led to him being there in the first place: where a slightly dirty oceanic breeze could pepper his face; with his back to a herd of mount Pokemon some salesman was hocking to the late arrivals.

  Even he wasn’t certain why he was on this beach. He supposed, it could be for the spectacle. It was a big deal after all. Never before had there been a competition like this; not to mention the fact it was all to elect Unova’s first Champion. He supposed, it could also be for the nostalgia. A few years ago, he had been a competitive Trainer and racer. A “genius” they used to hail him; now only in sneer. Everything from the smells and sights ignited some fondness in him. A brittle fondness, truth be told, he did not care for. People are drawn to the shiny new as well as the familiar.

  Either way, here he was.

  He was a nineteen year old lad from Striaton City, Unova which was basically on the other side of the region. Unovan by blood and by faith, he guesses. The world he had seen - parts of Kalos - hadn’t been to his liking.

  It was best to start children young so they could both fear and respect Pokemon. Be it in training or in racing. For Johnny, he got his start in racing at five. On the back of a mighty Gogoat his brother owned, he could race smooth and clean. His father, watching, thought to himself: My boy has to be a genius.

  Being told that, Johnny believed that.

  He enjoyed the attention that came the exhilaration of racing but he liked the racing a little better. At least to begin with; before he became obsessed with the former. He liked the rhythm to it. The way the saddle felt under him and the way his mount would kick up dirt and grass; propel itself forward freely. It was a beautiful, liberating feeling.

  As Johnny got older and better at not just racing but Pokemon training also, he found many things drawn to him. Riches and fame: things that soon wouldn’t mean a damn. But, he used to be the kind of person who lived in the moment and as such, things such as riches and fame consumed him. In short, he became quite the spoilt brat.

  Everyone used to have such fond names for him; such as “JoJo” and “Joe-Kid” and “Rookie”. He’d always liked “Rookie” best. It had spunk and he used to think he had a lot of it. The other two were just plain embarrassing to hear. But, fast forward a few years from when he was but a child, and the daydream fantasy of glory soon crumbled.

  To continuously win battle after battle, race after race had been spectacular. To be on the top of the world was a much deserved victory. Everyone revered those who could tame the monsters of the various elements. And Johnny had done it as a kid. It’s a vast symbol of humanity, nowadays. Just how weird and social and bloodthirsty we all are. And to be on top of such a world at a young age is foolishly dangerous; like playing the jester upon a crumbly cliff. And Johnny had done so excellently. Stupidly.

  It meant there were no rules. Sometimes, it had been great. Johnny recalls the time he lost his virginity as an example to that one. He had been invited to a millionaire’s house by his daughter and her friend. When he arrived, they had been more than friendly with him. Without a word to him, they had stripped down and invited Johnny to a very intriguing experience and Johnny had loved every moment of it. After all, her parents’ weren’t home.

  On the other end of the spectrum though, was the day when Johnny had lost it all. It was over something dumb but Johnny can envision it happening any other way. At that point in time, anything could have ruptured his bubble of arrogance.

  Castelia City was gorgeous in the springtime. Mild and agreeable weather with something to do on every block. It was a huge city but Johnny only frequented the respectable streets. Down one of the more reputable streets is a very famous restaurant, if you can call it that. On Tuesdays, and only Tuesdays, there is an ice-cream stand that sells its world-famous Castelia Cones. The owner makes a killing on the sole day open but sells out quickly no matter how many batches he prepares throughout the days it is closed. Johnny had wanted a taste of one but more importantly, his girlfriend wanted one to eat on her own.

  She was a chubby-faced girl from overseas, specifically Sinnoh, and loved the Unova weather as it was so much warmer here than where she was from. She loved to flounce around with an ice-cream in hand as it was so much better doing it here than back home. Johnny didn’t really care. If she was happy, he was happy. He was more than fine enough going along with her selfish whims since she was going along with his as well.

  She tugged on his arm and pouted. Her hair pulled in a tight ponytail bounced around. She looked so cute like that. Cute enough to put up with all her crap. 

  They had stood together in line for the Castelia Cone ice-cream stand. It felt like half the street was packed this fine mid-afternoon Tuesday. As time went on, patience thinned. She kept begging Johnny to do something, anything, to speed the line up. He didn’t know what to say. He had tried be a coward and get away before anything bad happened.

   "Let’s come back another day."

  He had tried to reason with her. He didn’t want ice-cream that badly but, apparently, she did.

   "Whaaaaat?" She pushed on his shoulder playfully; nudged him towards the front of the line. "C’mon, you're famous, work that charm."

   She whined like a chainsaw. It was enough to get on anyone’s nerves but Johnny was so worn down with it and his own egotism, that he let it. He shrugged her off and hooked his arm around her shoulder. She smiled like the Meowth that got the cream and snuggled in tight. 

  As a couple, they waltzed over to the front of the line. They were luckily the manager had his head turned since he was grabbing more cones. He barged in and they slotted into the front. At first, no one noticed but behind them, some dweeby adolescent looked up from his newspaper and was offended that someone would cut in when he had clearly staked first place in the line. 

  The dweeb cautiously tapped Johnny’s shoulder and mustered a weepy voice.

  Johnny turned his head and glared. He waited for this cowardly bugger to try and be the just man in the situation.

   "Th-The line… The line, um, starts right here, uh." he sheepishly informed Johnny.

   "Yeah, so?" Johnny replied, without care and in a low and bored voice. He dared this lad to cross him. 

  He was taller and bigger and had more money and power and status over some random wimp. 

   "I - I’ve been wait-waiting here, um, since this morning." he insisted. He flung his arm back and pointed. "Please - Please, um, wait at the end of the line."

  Johnny rolled his eyes and swaggered around. He grabbed the youth by his collar and almost lifted him off his feet. He whimpered and clenched his eyes. Squirmed.

   "Shut up! I don’t care!" Johnny yelled and he yelled a few other, more heartless things. 

   He dropped the kid to his feet. He was on the verge of tears. Johnny whipped around and brought out some cash money from his clothes. He waved in front of the manager’s face. The man had finally gotten ready for his next wave of customers and already, he was having issues. Johnny smacked his hand over the counter.

   "I’ve bought my place in line, haven’t I? Now serve my girlfriend and me." he demanded.

  The kid backed off. A few steps back. No one wanted to mess with Johnny.

   "Yay, now we can buy our Castelia Cones!" his girlfriend celebrated, as though oblivious to how cold and cruel Johnny had sounded.

   "Yeah, order up." Johnny said. His voice was hoarse.

  What happened next couldn’t have been predicted. Not by him. Not by his girlfriend or the manager of the ice-cream stand or anyone in line. Not even by him.

  Johnny half-stepped out of the way so that his girlfriend could access the counter. It was lucky that he did. He glanced over his shoulder. That twerp was still here. Irrational anger surged through him.

   "Fuck off, you persistent bugger!" he barked.

  Johnny turned his head. He let his body slacken. He heard the kid whimper. Nothing to note or be afraid of. Then he heard the click of a pistol being taken off safety. After that… a gunshot.

  His body froze. At first, there was no pain. He was too numb to feel pain. But then he felt some sort of liquid drip down his side. He turned around. The kid was crying. In his trembling hands, he wielded a flighty and old model flintlock pistol. At first, Johnny didn’t connect these two facts. At least not until he placed his hand above his hip and he felt around. Nothing, at first, until he drew back. He quaked in his dirty boots as he forced himself to look down.

   "Johnny!" his girlfriend shrieked. She dropped her ice-cream on the cement.

  His stomach wretched and eyes widened. Blood, slick and bright, coloured his fingertips and slid down his hands. His heart pounded in his ears. Time seemed out of synch with what was happening. He heard someone scream and then someone else. But no one’s mouths were moving.

  Then… it finally sank in…

   "What the hell did you do?" Johnny yelled.

  He blacked out after that. His knees went weak and he dropped to the cement. The side of his face roughed up as his nose smashed against the ground. The dropped ice-cream melted towards him. He couldn’t believe it. All of this over a fucking ice-cream cone. He wanted laugh as his mind went blank. He had heard rumours of some people being crazy enough to kill for a Castelia Cone. He didn’t think they were true though.

  His eyes fluttered closed. He honestly thought he was going to die there. On that grimey Castelia City street corner. Some days, he would wish he had. 

  When he came to, it was God knows how long later. As his eyes opened. He had clean forgotten the events that had led up to this. He felt as heavy as lead and dizzy. He was confused but that soon gave way to panic.

  As his eyes arced over the high, wooden ceilings of the hospital, he forced himself to turn his head. The pillow was lumpy beneath his face. A few beds over there was a man without arms. He looked lifeless as he slept. Soon, Johnny realised that there were a fair few people in this room and all were in the same, chopped up state. His stomach turned to stone as he grew increasingly ware of his surroundings. 

  Johnny’s breaths were quick to turn ragged with panic. His nose twitched. He had a neck brace on and given how he could feel his sheets on his back, he realised he was basically naked. He was bandaged up around the mid-section with some sort of loincloth-like piece of fabric covering up his genitals.

   "N-Nurse?" his voice was weak at first but as he continued to panic, his voice grew louder. "Nurse! It stinks in here! Positively reeks! Why aren’t you answering me?"

  His eyes moistened and he realised something feral. He didn’t want to hear himself say it but maybe, just maybe, saying it out loud would draw some attention from the nurse to himself.

   "I-I’m soiling myself. C-Can’t you hear me? I said I’m soiling myself!"

  His voice cracked. Tears streamed from his eyes. It was humiliating. He wasn’t a baby. He was an adult. He deserved to be treated as such. He most definitely did not feel as such.

  Johnny turned his head slightly once more. Out the corner of his eye was a bulbous man in a grey uniform. He was sitting down in the corner, legs crossed upon a wooden chair, as he read a newspaper. Johnny hoped to any divinity that could hear him that was the nurse. To make sure, he continued to yell and panic as tears streaked his cheeks.

   "Nurse! Nurse! Do your job! Take care of this immediately!" Johnny yelled.

  The man shifted. The newspaper fluttered. Besides that, there was almost no reaction.

  Johnny wiggled his fingers. He was thankful they still had feeling because most his body honestly felt like deadweight. He tried to lift his head. He tried to wiggle his toes. He was successful in one of those pursuits.

  As Johnny lifted his head, he saw that something was attached to his leg. It was some sort of tube and it was filled with blood. A container stood by his metallic and uncomfortable cot. Something about watching that tube drain him made panic rile up inside of him and his voice hit the maximum volume that it could reach. He tried to jerk it away from himself but it was like his legs were made of stone.

   "Something’s stuck to my leg! What is that?" he shrieked.

  The nurse finally got to his heavy feet. He lumbered over and threw the newspaper in Johnny’s face.That alone was enough to cause Johnny’s nose to bleed. He attempted to smother him with a snarl across his ogre-like face.

   "Shut the hell up, genius jockey." he drawled slowly. "You’ll wake up the other patients."

  Johnny struggled against the nurse who continued to smother him. His voice was completely drowned out against the paper. It bloodied quickly. He was too weak to leave anything but faint scratches on the nurse’s thick arms. 

   "We don’t get enough blood donors so shut the fuck up. S’not like you can feel anythin’ beneath the waist."

  The nurse continued to lean down on Johnny. A great weight was pressed upon Johnny’s fragile chest. Johnny turned his head and gasped in fresh air; even if it did reek. He took shallow breaths. He was petrified.

   "Hey, lemme tell ya somethin’, yer father hasn’t even visited ya yet.Your politician friends? Fuck, your girlfriend? None of ‘em have visited ya yet, ya worthless piece of shit." He chuckled. "Maybe if you had paralysed yourself in a race, they woulda visited but nah. It’s cuz you were messin’ ‘round with some fugly girl."

  The nurse grabbed Johnny’s head and squished in his cheeks. He forced Johnny to look him in the eye. The newspaper half slid down onto the cot.

   "Nobody wants to see yer mug anymore. Nobody feels sorry for you; yer just a burden. That woman of yours is probably messin’ ‘round with some other bloke."

  The nurse stuffed the newspaper down Johnny’s throat. It tasted foul and of blood and sweat. The weak paper melted in his mouth. Johnny attempted to protest but it was down his neck a tad too far. Twisted around, he could see the headline on the front page.

  “Steel Ball Run Race”, it read.


	7. VS THE FRICTION OF STRANGERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny resolves to enter the race so he can chase that glimmer of hope born from golden teeth and green steel PokeBalls.

    It was brief. It was tantalising. It was all Johnny had ever wanted ever since his legs had become paralysed. From his waist down, there was feeling. His arms flailed. He stumbled forward like a newborn Ponyta but he walked. It was barely even half a step but he had walked. He could cry, he was so emotional over it but for now, his eyes remained dry.

   He reached out and his hands brushed over the stranger’s. The stranger did not recoil. He did not intercept. He merely let Johnny stumble as he did. His eyes, green as spring foliage, carefully watched Johnny: every movement was carefully observed under such eerie eyes.

   The stranger extended a leg and he kicked the wheelchair upright. Johnny fell back into it. With his eyes wide and a puff of exhaled breath, he looked as though he had witnessed a miracle. And truth be told, he had.

   Johnny put his hands over his knees. His fingers dug into the fabric over his knee. He dug in as hard as he could go but his knees didn’t feel a thing. Not even a scant trace of pressure. In his head, his heart beat as loud as a drum. Babump, babump, babump: a steady noise as he questioned what had just happened.

   Johnny turned his head wildly as he tried to work out if anyone else had seen what he had seen. He had to know he wasn’t dreaming. He was so certain but sometimes, he got phantom sensations confused with reality. He was hoping this wasn’t one of those times but what if it was?

   It seemed so impossible.

   It had been two years since that incident so it had to be impossible. If that incident hadn’t have happened, his life would have been extremely different.

   Already, the stranger was gone but Johnny would forever have that appearance imprinted on his mind: an above average heighted man with sandy brown-blonde hair and a purple shirt, a holey hat with bizarre glasses attached, and strange, green PokeBalls strapped into his holsters. He was unmistakable. Especially those eyes. Not quite harsh and unforgiving, possibly not altruistic, but beautiful all the same.

   And a man fitting such a description had already mounted a Mudsdale further down the street from the row of stores and clerks. Its tail swayed in time with the man’s hair.

   Johnny’s heart pounded to a different tune. He had gone from awe and wonder to selfishness in record time. He pushed himself and his chair forward. He dived through the crowd.

   ‘Out of my way, Slowpokes!’ he yelled. ‘Move, you're in my way, dammit!’

   He hadn’t felt this revved up in years. At least not with a productive emotion, anyway. He trundled through the crowds and shoved himself through the thin pockets between people.

   ‘The hell did you say to me?’

   ‘Shut up!’ Johnny barked back to a random cowboy; completely shoving him out of the way and using that to gain more momentum.

   He had to catch up to that Mudsdale. Catching up to that Mudsdale was more important than anything else in his life. He was lucky it was just stomping through at a leisurely pace. Eventually, he got there. He trundled along beside its legs. He looked up at the man. Out of breath, hot, and a tad sweaty as his blood pulsated excitedly inside his body.

   ‘Wait!’ Johnny yelled. ‘I need to know; tell me! I need to know what happened to me, what was that?’

   Johnny couldn’t have been more certain. In the past two years, he couldn’t even move his legs a millimetre. Just then, he had walked. He was certain. For two years, either through words or through silence, the public had told him to give up. Just who was this man on the beach?

   Shadows shrouded the man’s face from Johnny’s angle. And yet, those eyes remained bright as he looked down and assessed Johnny. He brought his Mudsdale to a halt softly, slowly. Then, he spoke.

   ‘Do you know what the leading causes of death are? First, is sickness carried by parasites. Being killed by a mount Pokemon, or a Pokemon in general, is after that. Do you plan on changing those rankings?’

   He spoke calmly. There was a hint of an accent but Johnny couldn’t place it. He couldn’t place that vaguely flowery, lyrical accent that was brought out by the man’s slow, calm drawl.

   He rested back on his saddle, tilted his head to one side. ‘Don’t get any foolish expectations. I don’t know your circumstances. But you standing up just then, it was a coincidence. It was just a body reflex. Nothing more.’

   He flicked the back of his spurred boots into the ribcage of his Mudsdale. It whinnied and sniffled then finally decided that it may start to lumber off.

   ‘Reflex my ass!’ Johnny yelled. ‘I know that it had something to do with that spin thing! From your PokeBall. I think you have some sort of technique to strengthen Pokemon through that spin and I think it might work on me too!’

   Johnny trundled forward, trying to keep pace with the man’s Mudsdale before it could start to get too much speed on him. Johnny continued to pester.

   ‘Can we at least try? That spin thing?’ he begged.

   The Mudsdale picked up a tad more speed; more than Johnny could keep with whilst talking. The man half swivelled around and bade him farewell with a falsely sympathetic hand gesture.

   ‘I’m done talking.’ he said simply. ‘I’ve got no such special technique.

   Blatant lies! Johnny reached out his hand over his knees as far as he could go. His wheelchair skidded forth.

   ‘I’ll pay you! Let me try!’

   There wasn’t even a further word from him. Johnny reared back but after such a mere brush with progress, even the idea of progress, and he wasn’t going to give back. He burned with a bright determination. He launched himself forward and declared on the top of his lungs:

   ‘Then I’ll just touch those balls of yours again myself!’

   The bloke from earlier passed by and Johnny rammed him down without a second thought. Once more, he used him as a means to gain speed but this time, also jump height. He left skid marks on the back of that old man but didn’t give a second thought to him. His own goals, his own choices, mattered so much more than anyone else. Everyone else except this man mounted atop a Mudsdale mattered.

   Johnny flew up and reached out his hand for the PokeBall holstered to the man’s belt. His fingers brushed over its cool surface and his skin wrenched. His fingers from their tips to their knuckles wrenched and curled. He spat and hissed in pain. The man swatted his hand off casually.

   His wheelchair fell back and Johnny forced his torso to swing around. He grabbed onto the railing belonging to an overhanging veranda. His shirt rode up as he gripped on as tight as he could. He ignored the burning sensation aflame along his forearms.

   The Mudsdale reared up again. It snorted impatiently; seeming not to enjoy stopping and starting so much.

   ‘Before I knock you off, i will compliment you.’ the man informed him. ‘You have very strong muscles, or at least your upper body does. However, there is nothing too special about my PokeBalls. They’re something like weapons, I suppose you could say. Therefore, they won’t help a man like you walk again; no matter how hard you try.’

   He clicked his tongue and jabbed his spurs in his mount’s ribs once more. It pawed at the ground and shook its head. With a flick of its tail, it began to get going once more.

   ‘You can’t even ride a mounted Pokemon and the Steel Ball Run is about to start. Sorry, my friend but I’ve got to go. I’m not staying on this beach, I got a region to cross, more importantly, a championship to win.’

   He chuckled to himself as he rode off.

   Johnny unhooked his fingers from the rafters and tried to land on the wooden floorboards beneath him as softly as he could. The immediate relief from his arms was unbelievable but now he had a new problem. He rolled over to his stomach and started to drag himself towards his wheelchair.

   In the late September of 1890, upon this very beach, a beautiful glimmer of hope had manifested from within despairing. Johnny realised now that he had been drawn here for a purpose and he was going to take this opportunity. He was certain that strange foreigner was lying. Johnny knew the man had some sort of technique that bettered the muscles, he just knew it.

   ‘Alright dammit…’ Johnny muttered under his breath. ‘I’ll get on a mount and I’ll run this race.’

   He would chase that light called hope that the foreigner exuded. He refused to allow this opportunity let slip.


	8. VS - STAGE ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 25th, 1890, the First Stage begins and as does a terse and unspoken alliance between Johnny Joestar and his mysterious stranger.

    September twenty-fifth, 1890, and there were three hours to before the Steel Ball Run race would commence. That would make it about seven a.m but with the atmosphere, the whole region was currently blanketed in, it felt earlier.

    On a ranch just south of the Ficapica Beach, Virbank City, a couple of blokes hung out by a tall, wooden fence. They were having a good old yarn together. Old friends, they were. Colleagues too, not to mention. The pair were excited as anything and were talking about the Steel Ball Run.

   ‘Three thousand five hundred.’

   ‘Three thousand five hundred what?’

   ‘The number of participants. It’s seven or eight times the amount they were expecting but by the stars, fuck, who hasn’t dreamed of being on top of the world? Master Pokemon Trainer and all that jazz?’

   ‘Hey, you reckon that all those of ‘em will have a fair start?’

   ‘The start at least. That’s why they picked the beach, I heard. But I say? I reckon more than half of ‘em will drop out within the week! The week, I tell youse.’

   ‘Nah, more than two thirds, I say.’

   The men had a good laugh between themselves but it soon turned dark.

   ‘This ain’t a race, mate. It’s survival. I mean, only eight of these badges things up for grabs, on top of the distance and terrain. Yeah, it ain’t sport, mate.’

   These men were workers on a farm which had rented spaces for competitors to race. Among one of the few borrowing their land to camp, was a foreign fellow with long, sandy blonde hair and he was currently sorting through his things. He had yesterday and managed to lighten the load but still, he didn’t feel it would be enough so he sorted through again.

   He purged his bags of anything useless. He dropped toilet paper and toothbrushes in favour of more natural remedies for his messes; such as leaves and stems respectively. He got rid of books and a pair of scissors; choosing himself and a knife over those respectively. Of course, being a mature man, he did stow away his pink teddy bear for further keeping.

   Outside his tent, those ranch workers kept on jabbering and once more, they caught his attention.

   ‘When they pass the Driftveil City area, it’ll be less than one-tenth of the way there since they have to cross the mainland too. Maybe two or three hundred from there on out, I say.’

   The man gathered up his remaining things, much more satisfied with the weight he was currently carrying. Now, he was to load up his mount, a Mudsdale. As he ventured out, continuing to eavesdrop on those blokes’ yarn, something else caught his attention: an abandoned wheelchair lying on its side. It had a bright pink back and was oddly familiar. It rested close to the training arena’s fence opposite to where those gossips were chatting.

   A handsome Zebstrika zipped around on the inside of the fence but it was chucking up too much dust for it be alone. At its side, dust and dirt flew up in great, wide streaks.

   ‘Hey, look, it’s him!’

   ‘The guy who was a famous jockey and Trainer still goin’ at it. Kinda pathetic if you ask me. He’s gonna kill himself!’

   ‘Wasn’t he getting bucked off all through yesterday? I feel sorry for him.’

   ‘Reckons he’s gonna enter the race in that condition.’

   The works laughed raucously between themselves. The stranger drew nearer and was utterly abhorred by the sight.

   The Zebstrika bounded around viciously. Electricity fearsomely crackled down its mane. Beneath its hooves, a blond lad flailed: Johnny Joestar.

   The Zebstrika threw Johnny away and he smashed into the fence. He shivered as splinters cascaded over him. His leg was pierced with a stake borne from the smithereens. He was battered and blue and bloody.

   The stranger rested his body against the fence; close to where the ranch workers were.

   ‘A piece of wood went through his leg!’ worried one of the workers.

   ‘It don’t matter; not like he can feel it. He’s insane. Says that if anyone tries to stop him, he’ll set himself on fire and kill himself.’

   The Zebstrika fired off a warning shot of hot electricity. It huffed and snorted. It tore up the ground beneath it as Johnny wriggled away.

   ‘That old Zebstrika there sure has a twisted an’ nasty personality. Bloke who sold it to him must’ve really wanted a quick buck.’

   However, it was not to safety that Johnny dragged himself back to. It was straight back to the hooves of the Zebstrika.

   ‘Even if he could get on that creature again, I’m not sure it could go east. But then again… let him do as he wants. Everyone ‘round these parts at the moment are after that impossible glory.’

   Johnny didn’t even get a chance this time to execute whatever idiotic plan he had concocted. The Zebstrika fired off more electricity and Johnny curled up. It stomped around and at times, caught Johnny beneath it.

   The ranch workers screamed and howled for Johnny. The youth was silent even as it looked like he was on the verge of being trampled to death. He was that serious, determined, and stupid.

   ‘Someone stop him or he’ll die!’

   ‘I can’t watch!’

   The stranger looked up; gave his hat a flick so it would sit upwards on the crown of his head. He looked towards the workers.

   ‘You talking to me? I was just looking since he’s in my line of sight.’ he asked. ‘Are you asking for my opinion? If I was to say something like “He’ll never ride it… not like that” but on the other hand, if he can then he’ll prove he’s superhuman.’

   Johnny squirmed away from the Zebstrika. It calmed down a little now that he was away from it. He was ragged. Skin in shreds, bruised and battered. It was amazing to think he was breathing at all and yet, that’s all his shuddering body was doing. That and seething.

   ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

   A voice piped up. It was out of breath too. The stranger looked up and greeted his fellow wayward but soon realised by the garb of this man, he was quite native to the area, or at least the region in general if he was far from home.

   ‘I’d like a place to sign up to the race to.’

   ‘That way.’

   ‘Thanks.’

   ‘My pleasure.’

   The Unovan native known as Sandman followed the stranger’s directions. A simple point that away but it was a barely built up area. It would be an easy road to follow; just a simple guessing game as to where the clerk would be found but Sandman managed.

   He wound up exactly where he needed to be. He threw a pouch beneath the wire. A fat clerk eyed him.

   ‘Hey, don’t get me wrong,’ he started venomously, ‘but you need an entry fee. Not one hundred and twenty, not one thousand and two hundred: but twelve thousand PokeYen. It’s not like a man like you has that sort of foreigner’s money on him so move along, Isshu-man.’

   Sandman stared down the clerk, resolute as steel. Behind him, the competitors who had signed up prior had taken to their mounts and were now moving onwards to the starting line. He had to join them.

   He nodded at the Cofagrigus by his side. It chuckled ominously as a cold wind was blown from its mouth. The wind unfurled the package Sandman had placed on the counter and chilled the clerk to the bone. Fortunately, as soon as sunshine began to glint off of what was inside that piece of fabric, the clerk was warmed straight up.

   His greedy, beady eyes lit up as he picked up the object inside of it. Thoughts of his sister filled Sandman’s mind. The clerk inspected a gorgeous emerald: deep in colour, long and somewhat thick in shape. It was clear and bright. It was a precious heirloom, a keepsake from their parents passed away, that his sister had entrusted him with for this express purpose.

   It was a small sacrifice for his greater goal.

   The clerk scrutinised it under the glass of a magnifying glass. The pudgy man could not contain his greed as he excitedly hoped for it to be genuine.

   ‘This is…? Is it…? It’s real! Covered in sand but real.’ the clerk decided with cheer.

   ‘Keep the change.’ Sandman cooly replied. ‘And just give me the forms I need.’

   ‘Sure thing, sir!’

   Sandman kept a nasty insult to fling upon the clerk to himself. He couldn’t help but find it insulting that he only got respect in his own land upon flashing such fortune. His Pokemon cooed by his side as he wrote out his information on the papers he was soon given. He had no need for the trinkets that came with these papers though.

   ‘Wait, where’s a nose print from your mount, we need it on record - you better hurry up, you’re almost out of time.’ the clerk worried.

   Sandman began to walk away. ‘I intend to cross this region on barefoot so there is no need.’

   Further down the beach, there was still thirty minutes until the race was to begin. A blank was fired off and scared the Pidove flock that had been lingering around. They fluttered off wildly and then a voice spoke over the speaker system. It was loud and crackly but conveyed the messages clear as a bell.

   ‘Attention all Trainers, the identification numbers we provided you with correspond to a location on the starting line grid. For fairness, please be standing on your corresponding grid location two minutes prior to the beginning of the race at ten a.m. Arriving after will result in penalised and become a false start. And now, after the race mascot, “Mini Ponyta March”, and the band performance there will be a ceremonial opening and speech conducted by the director of the race and sponsor of the Steel Ball Run race: Mr Stephen Steel.’

   All eyes wound back to the enigmatic race director. A middle-aged man with an odd pair of glasses and a penchant for wearing green. It had been a long time coming to this day it was finally here.

   Around his feet, where he stood on the stage, trinkets were pulled back and forth by unseen crewmen. The trinkets were like a miniature of a carousel. Tiny Ponyta-like dolls with ornate saddles and accessories swarmed at Mr Steel’s feet and chased each other until finally being dragged off stage.

   Mr Steel raised his arm and then dropped it. Behind him, his wife smiled demurely as she wished only but the best for the beginning of this pursuit. Someone pulled the curtain off of a strange, blue-white rock formation. He cracked a wry grin.

   ‘This ice!’ Mr Steel yelled. His voice boomed without the aide of a speaker or similar. ‘It has come from far-off Sinnoh. According to scientists, this ice froze over three hundred years ago! We opened a hole in this ice and placed the championship trophy inside. This will be transported to Humilau City via the railroad system. It has been calculated to melt when a sole racer reaches the finishing line. This will be our “Sacred Ice” and will be our Steel Ball Run’s race symbol of fight fair and keep moving! It will be our burning desires that melt the ice!’

   His wry smile turned awry as he picked at his collar. He grinned like a foolish madman.

   ‘I like to believe with these comments… I have broken the ice. Don’t you think?’

   He laughed at his own joke. People shook their heads and cursed his name for such a bad gag. His wife giggled and applauded him though and that was enough for him.

   People began to chant “Virbank City” and “Humilau City” amid the crowd. Mount Pokemon whined and whinnied. People clapped and laughed. With the stiff proceedings seemingly over, it was time to celebrate the beginning of this momentous race. In a matter of seconds, the atmosphere went from tense to electric.

   ‘The favourite candidates are entering now!’ the voice of the speakers announced. No more did their words crackle and sputter through the system. ‘There’s the cowboy: Mountain Tim! From the Kalosian racing world, aristocrat Diego Brando can be seen! The Hoenn nomad himself, Urmd Abdul entering on the back of a Camerupt! And there’s Dot Han from Johto! Only three minutes left to enter your place on the grid; five minutes until the race itself starts!’

   At the scraggly end of the grid, a tempestuous Zebstrika came into view.

   ‘Hey look, it’s him.’

   ‘He’s really lost it after all, pathetic.’

   Dragged with his hand through the stirrup, Johnny Joestar and his Zebstrika lined up. By some fluke, an all too familiar stranger looked up and noticed the motley pair. Johnny too bloodied up and infuriated to notice anyone looking at him. As a washed-up jockey and Trainer, he was quite used to cold glares and scathing words. Despite the occasion, today was no different.

   Johnny’s wrist slipped from the stirrup and he raised himself. His arms did not shake but his breath was hard and ragged. It was hard to imagine anyone racing in such condition but he was determined to. Even his mount took pity on him. His Zebstrika bowed its head to him and licked some flaking blood off his temples.

   ‘Dammit.’ he muttered to himself and his Zebstrika reared back.

   He turned over and his dull eyes regained light when he made eye contact with the man in the grid square next to him. Johnny smiled. Fate had truly smiled upon him. He’d know those green eyes and brown-blonde hair anywhere, and those ridiculous patches of beard he wore down the side of his face and that holey hat.

   ‘I haven’t given up.’ Johnny told the man. ‘I’ll figure out how you do it. That “spin” thing. The truth about those steel PokeBalls. Even if I can’t catch up with you after this race starts, someday… dammit.’

   The man rested his hand one of the green PokeBalls clipped to his belt. His eyes wandered away from Johnny and he sized up that Zebstrika. It seemed more at peace than it had earlier this morning.

   ‘Choosing that Zebstrika was a good decision for you, I think.’ he decided. ‘Old Pokemon have more experience. Young ones charge in, guns blazing but old Pokemon - mounts especially - have more wisdom. That’ll come in handy in this sort of race.’

   Johnny’s eyes widened.

   ‘Since I’m now interested in you, I guess I’ll give you a hint. You’ve almost worked it out, after all.’

   ‘Huh?’ Johnny grunted. He could feel his arms go weak with relief and disbelief.

   The stranger palmed his PokeBall; rocked it forward as though to tease Johnny with what could be.

   ‘If you have the will to get on that Zebstrika of yours, why don’t you?’

   ‘What?’ Johnny’s voice went hoarse.

   The stranger beared a ridiculous smile at Johnny. He wore a golden, garish grille across his teeth which became disgustingly illuminated in the sunlight; not to mention the shade of green he used to colour his lips. It was awful. With a chuckle, a horrible noise, he then began to prepare to chuff off; right time as there was another announcement over the speaker system.

   ‘There’s two minutes until starting time! Three thousand, six hundred, and fifty-two participants in all! Will each mount entering its position on the starting line grid, we can see the end of the line!’

   The stranger turned his head and Johnny’s heart stopped. Before the air had been light and celebratory but it was time to get serious. Such a light-hearted seeming announcement had been enough to sour the hearts of all. The true impact of all these people with one goal hit Johnny.

   ‘It’s like a whole city! All lined up along this beach… it’s an overwhelming scene! This will move beyond the boundaries; beyond the westerlies.

   Johnny’s mind froze with panic as he attempted to unpack the riddle the stranger had presented. He turned back to his Zebstrika. It looked him in the eye with a gentle gaze; as though awaiting orders.

   ‘H-Hey, lick my face again.’ he told it. ‘Again, lick my face again, Zebstrika.’

   It shook its head, snuffled, but obeyed. It leaned down but Johnny pulled away so he could allow his back to rest against its head. The spin, he told himself, the spin. He willed it and Zebstrika blew hot breaths against his back. He gripped onto the Zebstrika’s neck and willed his upper body upwards as Zebstrika pulled itself back up.

   His blood rushed as his lungs stopped. His heart thudded in his chest as he watched his legs go over his head. With a plop, he couldn’t believe he’d done it. He grabbed onto the reins and landed on the saddle. His mind blanked with disbelief.

   The stranger cracked a glance towards Johnny. Half a smile on those ugly green lips of his. Johnny’s insatiable curiosity had only just gotten a taste for the true mystery of “the spin” and he needed to know more.

   ‘The Steel Ball Run begins now!’ the woman over the speakers announced excitedly.

   Seemingly far away from the spectacle of the startling line was Mr Steel and his wife, entertaining guests who lingered. Mr Steel was handing binoculars to anyone who looked interested. His wife remained by his side, silent.

   ‘Ladies and gentlemen from your respective fields,’ he declared proudly, ‘if you please, would you like to follow along by carriage in that train over there? We have quite the buffet provided; tea, wine, whatever you could desire.’

   His wife glanced at the clock tower that studded the middle of the beach; erected purely for this race. But it was not the time she was after. She watched as a firecracker whizzed past. It left an arc of smoke in the air before exploding with a bang. Tiny, pink-red embers almost invisible against the indomitable blue of the sky scattered and disappeared into nothingness.

   ‘The fireworks are up! That’s the starting signal! Ten a.m, September twenty-fifth, 1890… the trans-Unova region race, the Steel Ball Run, has finally begun!’

   Countless mount Pokemon surged forward. Scraping up dirt, sand, and grass as they began to plough through the beach with their Trainers in tow. The beat of hooves against the ground as deafening and inescapable. Each thud built to something bigger and louder than possible.

   The first stage of the Steel Ball Run had begun. It was to consist of fifteen thousand meters.

   Hot air balloons brightly coloured like the garb of jesters floated above the racers. They drifted along a calm zephyr. The train circled around. Great puffs of grey smoke burst in hefty puffs from the chimney.

   ‘Over three thousand, six hundred mounts here today and no confusion at the startling line!’ the woman over the speaker system commentated.

   Each row the grid surged forward like waves unto the sand. Though, that wasn’t to say everything was neat and orderly. It was a competition after all. Here and there, a daring and bold few were breaking off from where they had been positioned on the startling line in a brave gambit to get ahead.

   ‘The starting grid stretches over four kilometres.’

   To his fellow hoity-toity businessmen seated in the carriage, Mr Steel addressed them whilst looking out to the mighty racers.

   ‘Fellow journalists, I will now describe the development of this race and routes.’ Mr Steel spoke seriously. ‘Between the six thousand kilometers between Virbank City and Humilau City is various terrains that will make crossing the region difficult due to how there are three, distinct prongs of land. Along this six thousand kilometers, I have placed nine official checkpoints. The first of these checkpoints is a church the other side of the mountain range between Virbank City and Driftveil City.

   ‘These checkpoints are areas in which President Valentine has stationed a Trainer of his own choosing to act as “Leader” to guard one of the precious Badges that the competitors are eligible to battle for tokens of victory in order to prove they are the very best.

   ‘During these checkpoints, it will also be necessary for our workers to check for dubious or criminal activity as well as gather information such as race time, battle logs, and, of course, race ranking.

   ‘Anyone who ranks well during stage checks will be presented bonus cash prizes as well as a few battle bonuses. Anyone eligible for such a bonus may receive a “power play” in which they will be permitted to remove one loss from their record or the ability to re-challenge a Leader for a badge, should someone else not win it before them of course. Today, I’m sure all our competitors are drooling over this “power play” bonus.

   ‘It’ll be a long two months on the back of a mount. I’m sure such a bonus may come in handy. I think it would be worth trying to break formation over and I suspect any moment now, someone may just try to do that.’

   Mr Steel concluded himself with a nod and already, his prediction about a racer drooling over the idea of such a bonus. As the wave of racers thinned out over the span of land, a competitive soul had already broken through. The hot air balloons gyrated around and a woman began to commentate once more.

   ‘Oh! One mount has already jumped ahead of the group! Who is it? Who is it? We’re checking the saddle cloths now! He’s fast. He’s speeding ahead of the over three thousand. What an incredible acceleration! Unbelievable!’

   The speaker continued to stall for time until the information she required was acquired.

   ‘The First stage is quickly turning into some unexpected! He’s not slowing down! What’s the number on the saddle cloth, quick!’

   There was a heart-stopping pause and then the sound of breath skittering over a crackly microphone. You could hear the grin the commentator’s voice.

   ‘ID B-636. Zeppeli! Incredible! Racing solo! He’s trying to make a clean break for that coveted first position to make a gateway for the remaining fifteen thousand meters! Astounding! Racing number B-636 Gyro Zeppeli has left the group!’

   Johnny engraved that name into his heart. The stranger was a stranger no more. Now, the whole region knew that man’s name.

   Meanwhile on the train, Mr Steel and one of his workers thumbed frustratedly through books in search of more information on this “Gyro Zeppeli”.

   ‘Who is he?’ Mr Steel demanded as his searches came upvnought.

   ‘We don’t know. We’ve got no records of him. He could be a cowboy or a miner.’

   Johnny meanwhile was relying on what he could see with his eyes as to who this Zeppeli person was. He was riding a Mudsdale. That made it a Pokemon from Alola and whilst he wasn’t sure which island, he was sure it would be one with a lot of rocky grounds as those hooves made it adept for traversing impossibly rough and tough roads. Mudsdale was a species known for its stamina but not it speed but clearly, with the right training it could outrun more popular choices such as Rapidash.

   He watched as Zeppeli and his Mudsdale burst away from the city to the east; bordering where the beach was and into the unknown. The ground here was lively with grass but it was yellow in colour. The area had been recently logged; stumps poking out here and there. Cacti, hardy as anything, flourished regardless and looked odd next to the luscious and verdant trees that remained standing. Johnny supposed this might be something akin home for the Mudsdale; hell, even Zeppeli since his origins were unclear compared to his clearly Alolan mount.

   Johnny frowned as he came to his conclusions. ‘Is he really trying to clear the pack with a beast built for stamina?’

   Mudsdale, in Johnny’s refined racing opinion, seemed ill suited to Zeppeli’s strategy. It wasn’t made for out-speeding the pack. Rapidash did that better. Mudsdale and Gogoat, for example, were better for of a more slow and steady wins the race mindset. It was a bad strategy. His Mudsdale would tire out right before the halfway mark of fifteen thousand meters; not to mention the fact that he’d have to keep racing tomorrow and the day after. Such a bodily demand on Mudsdale was unreasonable.

   And yet, Johnny was certain. He was certain this fellow had every right to be confident in his quiet declaration: I got a region to cross, more importantly, a championship to win.

   Johnny snuck a glance behind to the right and left. He had to stay focused. In a race like this, entropy was thick and chaos could erupt at any point. If he fell off his mount, he’d fall off it for good and likely wouldn’t get off the ground breathing. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t analyse Zeppeli’s strategy lest he neglect his own which was to stay safe.

   Johnny tightened his grip on the reins. He bade his mount onwards. His Zebstrika sped up. Its tail upright as electricity crackled through its mane. The electricity-proof saddle was definitely working. It flicked its ears and they soon went upright.

   ‘Oh no! Due to the group, Pokemon are becoming agitated!’ the announcer shrieked.

   Johnny didn’t dare hazard a glance but he heard a bone-crushingly painful noise behind him. He heard the scrabble of dirt and breaking of the earth. Whines and howls of pain. An utter disaster. It had only been a matter of time and he was chilled to the soul by how close it had been to him and Zebstrika.

   ‘Oh dear! A collision as occurred!’ the commentator cried out. ‘They’re running into each other… It’s starting to look a bit more like a race now though! Still, body charging isn’t against the rules. Many of these mounts are trained for cattle work and are used to keep Tauros in line so it’s allowed. Not to mention, this in itself is sort of like a mass battle too!’

   Blood splattered and bones broke. Two Trainers, both on the backs of Rapidash, collided and down went their mounts. Two soon became four as further Trainers who were unable to escape the cluster, a vortex of disaster, crashed into one another. Mounts were flipped and Trainers bucked off. Every noise that emanated from the disaster was enough to turn stomachs.

   Johnny and his Zebstrika kept surging forward. Anything to avoid being sucked into the chaos. His mount had better sense than that.

   Naturally, from the chaos, other opportunists emerged. Gaining speed on Zeppeli, a challenger appeared from the dust and danger. His appearance got the commentator lady very excited.

   ‘And now, we have someone gaining speed on Gyro Zeppeli! From the group, he’s giving great chase! And he’s closing in quickly on Gyro Zeppeli!’

   Not even a second passed from the commentator's lips when she realised who had claimed the challenger was. It didn’t take anyone in the pack to work it out either. Zeppeli was an out of the blue candidate but this person had been a favourite to win the moment he had entered the fray.

   ‘It’s Diego Brando! Prince of the Kalosian racing and battling circuit!’

   Diego’s mount was a Sawsbuck. An unusual choice but not as unusual as some. Definitely more upbeat but the elegant flora it donned upon its antlers was a good fit for someone as pompous as Diego. Not to mention, Sawsbuck had a decent speed stat that outranked Mudsdale. However, Sawsbuck were sprint racers, like what Diego was used to training but it had the potential to be trained to have much stamina.

   He masterfully handled reins of his Sawsbuck. It grunted and snorted as it stopped through the empty space between it and its rival Mudsdale. It furiously kicked up grass and dirt under its hooves as it gained on Mudsdale and was set to zip past it and Zeppeli.

   ‘He’s closing in on Zeppeli! He’s set to take the lead!’ the commentator yipped.

   It seemed all but certain that Diego was going to overtake Zeppeli’s lead but a plume of fire let them both know that there were still plenty of competition gaining on them. Slow and steady but surely picking up pace, a face no one thought would breach the beginning of the race for his strategy was that of patience and better suited to the long haul rather than the quick fight.

   ‘And here comes another favourite for the win, Urmd Abdul the nomad from Hoenn with his faithful Camerupt as his mount!’ the Commentator yelled.

   ‘Caaamerupt!’ Abdul’s Camerupt howled.

   ‘Flamethrower!’ Abdul instructed.

   What Camerupt lacked in speed as a mount, in made up for in size and weight. It had the capacity to crush anyone who dared to contest it. Sawsbuck being weak to fire types, Diego made the wise decision to steer away from the column of fire spiralling out of Camerupt’s blunted toothed maw.

   ‘Like I said folks, this is basically a mass Pokemon battle. Anything goes!’ the commentator reminded the spectators.

   ‘Again, Flamethrower!’ Abdul barked.

   Zeppeli was feeling a bit braver. His Mudsdale could, obviously, resist fire type attacks and outclassed it as far as offensive stats went however, it was heavier and taller than Camerupt which might turn to an advantage. Zeppeli and Mudsdale attempted to charge onwards but that second blast from a Flamethrower attacker was enough to spook Mudsdale and singe its tail, giving Abdul an opportunity to fiercely seize.

   ‘And he charges past!’

   Zeppeli’s Mudsdale whinnied as it gave Camerupt room, a bit of reluctance as it bucked back. Zeppeli rode the motion and made sure to hang on tight. Once settled, Mudsdale was fine and had a new, competitive spirit aflame within in it. Energy quickly burst out around it and seemed that Mudsdale’s defence had gone up thanks to being hit by that second Flamethrower.

   From afar, from way back in Johny’s position, it was apparent what Abdul’s strategy was. It was all out force. It was being the square peg in the circular hole. He would use his Camerupt’s size and weight as advantageously as he could. Crushing the smaller and light mounters underfoot but spooking anything scarcely larger. It was reckless but impressive.

   Abdul and his Camerupt finally barged past Zeppeli. They galloped along as fast they could go; no doubt tremendous stamina backing up that forceful play. Zeppeli’s Mudsdale, though recovered from its encounter with flames, had lost speed and distance. Diego, having played it cautiously, was now rearing up close to Zeppeli and was now going to create opportunity from the confusion among the top three positions. His small and sly Sawsbuck perfect for such mischief.

   In the distance, barely anything at all, there was a copse of thin trees coming up. Zeppeli had noticed. Mudsdale’s girth, being taller but somewhat lean, would fit through them without trouble. Abdul’s Camerupt, on the other hand, being quite wide would have to bowl them over to get through and that would be a fair bit of trouble for such a tankard of a mount; potentially causing it to lose speed.

   Zeppeli unhooked one of his strange steel PokeBalls from his belt. It wasn’t an illegal move per se but it would come with a high risk. He flicked his wrist forward and his PokeBall spun out oddly.

   ‘Oh? What’s this? Zeppeli is bringing in a new Pokemon into the battle; who will he choose?’ the commentator yelled. ‘Again, not against the rules so long as it hasn’t been registered as a mount! Truly a free-for-all battle, folks!’

   ‘Go, go, Problem Child!’ Zeppeli called out.

   The PokeBall flung open and a Bibarel burst forth from the strange light.

   ‘Biba!’ it yelled.

   Johnny kept his eyes peeled. Again, he had noticed that there was a strange technique to Zeppeli’s throwing and he was certain that some sort of influence, genuine influence, over the Pokemon’s power in battle. He squinted. It was hard to tell from a distance but he was certain.

   The Bibarel - Problem Child, Zeppeli had called it - seemed to emanate a strange aura. It circled and spiralled danced. It was hard to see because it was opaque but it was definitely spinning. However, it was blink and you miss it. Johnny got a speck of dust in his eyes and then, when he regained proper vision, it was gone. No auras, nothing special: just a regular old Bibarel. Or at least it would be if it wasn’t owned by the enigmatic Zeppeli. Johnny swallowed. Waited. Hoped. He knew he’d see another sign of it, the spin, if he just waited and hoped.

   ‘Use Surf!’ Zeppeli screamed.

   Johnny leaned in. He grappled with his reins. Zebstrika attempted to speed up. He needed to be just a little closer so he could see what would happen properly. But, if he was lucky, then maybe the spectacle wouldn’t need close attention and would be larger than life.

   Bibarel opened its jaw wide as it ran past Mudsdale; attempting to keep pace with it and its trainer. There was a determined gleam in its eyes. It yipped and yapped. Behind it, from seemingly nowhere, it drew forth water. Bigger than a tidal wave, it seemed. The water curled and foamed, behaved as though it were part of the ocean but it was stranger than that.

   And Johnny could see it.

   Even in this Surf, he could see it. He could see the Spin. He had to strain his eyes and hope for anything that he wasn’t being clouded by misguided hope first but he could see it.

   The water curled and coiled unnaturally. It behaved more like a whirlpool on its side. It was imbued with some sort of peculiar spin. It was undebatable. That was, until, it came and crashed.

   The water spread as far as it could reach with its single crash that Bibarel commanded. It soaked the land and turned it into a muddy entry hazard. Mudsdale charged on through it, despite having taken damage from its ally - and its defence increased again. Camerupt was utterly swamped by the attack, however, and had taken the four times water weakness damage it was susceptible to.

   The water batted at the trees in the distance. It was not strong enough to knock it down but it was strong enough to layer the distance in waist height water. At least until it magically dried up, anyway but given how it was trying to stretch out as thin as it could go. Slowly petering out.

   ‘Water hazard, oh no! This could go anyway, folks! But let’s not count Diego out either!’ the commentator yelled.

   Diego was placing a lot of trust in his Sawsbuck’s agility. He swung out away from the chaos and began to dash for the thicker part of the grove. He was aiming for where the trees were tightly packed but his lithe Sawsbuck might just be able to make it through the copse without issue.

   Abdul tugged on his Camerupt’s reins. He attempted to manoeuvre away from the deeper depths of the Surf. Camerupt, lacking agility, floundered in the water and tried to disobey its Trainer’s orders.

   Zeppeli grinned to himself. ‘Return, Problem Child.’ he instructed.

   ‘Biba!’

   In a flash, seemingly taken by slipping circles, Zeppeli’s Bibarel was returned to its PokeBall. Soon, it was safely stowed away but Zeppeli got up a little bit. He leaned down over his Mudsdale’s mane and prepared himself for a bit of contact and roughhousing between his mount and Abdul’s.

   Mudsdale ploughed forward and crashed into Camerupt. Abdul screamed a wobbly scream as his Camerupt lost footing in the slick mud. The water continued to thin out. Zeppeli made it past without issue but the same was not to be said about Abdul.

   The water completely dried up. Mud remained in the waste. However, because the water had cleared up though, a small ridge was revealed along the grove. Zeppeli and his Mudsdale jumped it. They made it past the trees beautifully and practically soared over the ridge. Abdul was not as fortunate.

   His Camerupt bumbled through its movements, horribly slowed. His Camerupt blustered over the ridge and collapsed under its own weight and at the worst possible location too. Rising from the shadows of the ridge, in the shade of the trees, a thicket of cacti had grown. The Camerupt, and Abdul, were quickly ensnared by the fleshy and prickly chunks.

   With a final heave and a sputtering honk, Camerupt’s eyes began to spin. It was unable to continue.

   ‘It’s a fall, it’s a collapse! Camerupt has fainted! Abdul is no longer in the running! Did he not notice the cacti for the water or for the trees? Who knows but his Camerupt has fainted, that’s for sure. I can’t believe it: a fan favourite, down and out already! Urmd Abdul is out!’ the commentator yelled.

   Zeppeli charged onwards. The distance between him and the other racers continued to widen. He chuckled to himself.

   ‘Nyo, ho, ho, I’m going to be the one who claims this stage’s power play.’ he mused to himself.

   Johnny and Zebstrika surged forth. They were keeping in the top mid-section of the pack, now. A safe position, all things considered as they were gradually thinning out for all sorts of reasons; though not any as exciting as what was happening between the top three.

   He passed the grove and looked at Abdul. He was an utter mess. He was caked in mud and needles, for one. The cacti were all chopped up and crumpled thanks to him. Johnny couldn’t help but admire the strategy Gyro had employed there. Especially since he was now home safe.

   Johnny stared ahead. He watched as the cowboy on a Mudsdale continued onwards. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened there. Water hazards caused by Surf didn’t normally linger that long but moreover, how had Gyro known that the cacti was there in the first place? No one else had seen it.

   The commentary continued from above; presumably from one of the bright and vivacious hot air balloons.

   ‘What a start to the Steel Ball Run this has been! One of the fan favourites has been eliminated!’


	9. VS THE BRIDGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valkyrie the Mudsdale has a peculiar habit. Diego notices.

    The conclusion of the first checkpoint was a church. It was situated on the outskirts of Driftveil City. It was just over the lowest points of the mountain range that divided Driftveil City and Virbank City.

    The route of checkpoints was to follow an odd, serpentine bend. Going any further than Driftveil City meant crossing dangerous, uncharted mountains and put too much strain on the competitors so they would be baited inwards; towards the mainland where they would be forced to visit the Entralink and then be driven downwards to Castelia City. From Nimbasa City, it would be necessary to visit Castelia City and make headway through Pinwheel Forest. After Pinwheel Forest, the next city to visit would be Nacarene. From Nacarene City, it was straight up that third of Unova for the final home run wherein Humilau City would be waiting.

    True, they would be forced through icy domains and untouched forests but it was terrain well known to topographers, map makers, and many people in general. It was thought to be safe, as compared to the sect of land Virbank City was situated, anyway. Still, it was all about the contained adventure. Anything more and the Steel Ball Run would never have been established for safety fears and some other bright spark would have to come up with a plan to create a system to cull mediocre Trainers from those who have what it takes to be Unova’s first Champion.

   So far into the race, it had been an amazing chain of events. The perfect start, really. Got the blood pumping and throats sore from yelling. If they could keep that kind of pace, it would be an unbelievable and unforgettable next two months or so. Unfortunately, it was obvious that the cull of mediocre Trainers, and a few unlucky surprises, had begun.

   ‘It’s barely been one thousand meters and fan favourite, the nomad from Hoenn, has already fallen!’ the commentator yelled. ‘Leader of the pack, Gyro Zeppeli B-636, has still not dropped speed! He’s charging, he’s charging! Trailing at about twenty lengths. But now, favourite candidate Diego Brando, alias “Dio”, the prince of the Kalosian racing and battle scene, is trying to keep Zeppeli company up there at the front! Will he make it and close in?’

   The train following the pack swerved around; merely following the bend and curves of the tracks. People stared out intently with their binoculars. Mr Steel donned a grave look as he gave a thoughtful nod to the worker beside him.

   ‘Pass on the message. Tell Maria to make the announcement.’ he grunted.

   ‘On it. Though it may take a few minutes to get it through to her balloon.’

   Meanwhile, out in the field, Johnny eyed Diego carefully. There was something suspicious about how Diego as moving. He was always something of a weird guy but usually there was a method to his madness; as evidenced by their brushes in past on the race track and in battle. Johnny had no doubt that today would be no different.

   Diego was chasing from the right but closing in on the left. The distance between him and Zeppeli was gradually dropping. He was playing it cautious but something about his demeanour gave Johnny the impression that he had some sort of trick prepared. He might even be planning a proper attack, who knows. After all, he was a masterful battler and jockey. It had taken him a short while to crusade through the Battle Chateau ranks and earn his place as both a prince in fiction but an aristocrat in reality, being originally of low birth.

   The commentator’s voice pierced the whooshing winds with a mighty crackle.

   ‘I just received word from on high!’ she announced. ‘Mr Steel has given out orders: he wants to know the history of the unknown Trainer - Gyro Zeppeli, B-636 - before the deadline of tomorrow morning’s newspaper! Anyone with information will receive a cash reward!’

   Johnny’s blood went cold. That was the last thing he needed. He needed that man’s life story more than Mr Steel, and he certainly wouldn’t sell it once acquired. He couldn’t imagine how Zeppeli felt about such a bounty.

    Diego smirked as he thought to himself; as he planned out his strategy on the wavering cusp of being executed flawlessly. He was surprised by how Zeppeli had fought just then and how he had eliminated Abdul and his Camerupt from the race. He hadn’t even noticed that thicket of cacti but he couldn’t let that shake him. He had bigger plans. He had thought Abdul would have put up more a fight being a favourite but, it would appear, he was nothing but a small fry.

   However, Abdul and Zeppeli’s scuffle had given him further insight into Zeppeli’s character. He was a skilful battler but there was something amateurish about his riding skills. It was as though he were only somewhat experienced in such a field. Diego could very clearly see the outcome of this next duel for leader of the pack and he was certain it would favour him.

   Zeppeli could sense a serious competitor was gaining speed on him. It was unsettling feeling and he desired strongly to defend himself from such a creeping feeling. He couldn’t let anyone risk his good start. And in order to protect himself from a compromising position, he would need to know what his certainly confident competition was up to, so he hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

   His eyes widened; his lips parted and his voice, though hoarse, could not disguise his shock.

   ‘That Brando fellow… he’s disappeared!’

   And it didn’t take long for everyone else to notice too.

   No longer was Diego Brando trailing along on the back of his Sawsbuck in Zeppeli’s wake. The distance between Zeppeli and the rest of the pack was empty: sparse grass, the occasional tree, the cacti thicket and grove from before. The wind whistled through. For all intents and purposes, it was essentially empty despite it seeming impossible for that. Diego had been there a moment before and now, it was like he and his mount had disappeared into thin air.

   The commentator’s voice rang out with all the confusion welling up inside of the Trainers who had witnessed, and missed, this vanishing act of Diego’s. But Zeppeli couldn’t focus on that. He could sense a trick a mile away and this had all the makings of a nasty deception.

   He turned his head back to the skyline before him. But soon, his line of sight was confronted by a man wearing an equestrian jumper and cap. A sharp-toothed grin lined his lean face.

   His Sawsbuck, marked curiously with a discolouring of fur upon its forehead in the shape of a star, had finally met pace to Zeppeli’s Mudsdale. It looked ready to counter, truth be told, and to be speed up but with its head upright, it was obeying its master’s will and his master’s will elegantly controlled its reins that were tightly drawn back. There was a ferocious glint of determination in Diego’s eyes.

   ‘What’s this? It’s like magic!’ the commentator yelled. ‘Out of nowhere, Diego Brando is now neck-and-neck with Gyro Zeppeli! He’s completely matched Zeppeli’s speed!’

   As Johnny watched Diego’s lowered head and accelerating, Sawsbuck, he became all the more certain that Diego had caught. Diego had definitely realised that there was something peculiar about the way Zeppeli battled and that it was correlated with the spin. Johnny was impressed by the speed in which Diego had figured it out though.

   Diego surged forward. His thoughts on the pattern. Every life had a rhythm to it and he was keen to observe it all. He slowly looked up, the wind struck his hair and pushed it back, and he met Zeppeli’s concerned gaze. He could see it Zeppeli’s eyes: the wondering if how this had happened.

   ‘Everything,’ Diego breathed heavily, ‘has it owns habits. Whether it be machines or other objects but Pokemon especially as they are living, breathing beings, and often, they have more characteristics than humans. For example, some Rapidash move their tail upwards before charging but others may move outside the group before charging. Some Sawsbuck shake their heads when approached by a mount they don’t like. Some mounts may lower their bodies… Others change their stride. All of them have their own unique characteristics that can be read.’

   Zeppeli raised an eyebrow. That scary grin of Diego’s became smug.

   ‘And some Mudsdale, always sways left whilst running when its speed will definitely drop as a result. And every time it breathes eight times…’

   Diego’s eyes honed in one the Mudsdale’s nostrils. One breath. A sniffle. A second and third breath; another two sniffles. A fourth and fifth breath soon paired by a snort. Then a sixth and seventh twitch and drool leaked from the Mudsdale’s hairy lips. And then… And then… He saw it: the eighth, ragged breath.

   ‘It may sway to the left.’

   Diego’s voice was quiet. Utterly lost beneath the thundering hooves and the wind. Zeppeli had certainly tuned him out. But Diego saw it. He saw the movement he had been counting down to.

   Zeppeli’s Mudsdale leaned to the left. Just a slight sway like its body was being slightly moved by the wind. It kept galloping forward; just a slight curve through its body. It teetered somewhat forward but as its blood pumped and its breaths remained shallow but functional, it began to sway. In another eight breaths, that left lean would increase. It was just a small rate but it was noticeable enough to be corrected before disaster. But, for now, Diego would seize the chance before Zeppeli could discipline his mount.

   His Sawsbuck surged forward. They skimmed past the waist of Zeppeli’s Mudsdale; narrowly missing any contact. It was rather polite of him given that others had tried more aggressive tactics throughout the race already. Sawsbuck gracefully stretched past and then dashed. Diego bobbed along with his mount’s movements as they overtook Zeppeli.

   The commentator lady practically lapped it up. ‘He passed! He passed! Diego Brando has passed Gyro Zeppeli!’

   Sawsbuck dashed past. Diego smugly thought to himself. It was useless to expend an excess of energy but by timing it right, he wouldn’t have to worry about it. He could utilise the foe’s weakening stamina in order to get past without using too much of his own. He smiled.

   ‘Dio is in the lead!’ the commentator shrieked.

   The distance between Diego and Zeppeli widened. Zeppeli’s Mudsdale half reared off from a straight path. Diego’s Sawsbuck, however, gave graceful pace that was straight as an arrow as it surged past Zeppeli and his Mudsdale.

   Johnny fumed from his position farther back than them both. He was still in disbelief that Diego had worked out something as minute as the Mudsdale’s breathing pattern and had proceeded to take advantage of it. He tried to work out if Zeppeli knew about this habit; or if he knew that Diego had noticed such a thing to begin with. It wasn’t good.

   Pokemon and humans work the same way; especially in cases of partnership. Once thrown off track, it would be hard to return to that golden rhythm like before. Moreover, if that distance continued to grow then it was going to be near impossible to overtake because Diego knew that instinctive pattern - on that would be hell to overcome, especially in an instance as short notice as this.

   Zeppeli continued to steer off-course and away from Diego’s rear. Soon enough, his Mudsdale’s nose twitched and snorted upon an eighth breath. Nevertheless, Zeppeli charged onward; almost obstinately; perhaps he didn’t know about his Mudsdale’s quirk. That small titbit would soon become a fatal flaw. Diego accelerated once more and it soon became quite the length between them.

   ‘Zeppeli is trying to accelerate but it’s like magic! Dio remains the one up front! It’s no wonder they call him a racing genius!’ the commentator yelled.

   Zeppeli huffed. Diego glanced backwards. Zeppeli clicked his tongue at him and frowned; his brow deep with frustration.

   ‘Hey, what’s up with all this?’ Zeppeli asked.

   ‘Hmph, yours in the technique of a racing bumpkin. Stay in the back where you belong.’ Diego lashed back in reply.

   ‘You’re talking about racing habits. You mean to say my Mudsdale has a running habit? Are you kidding me?’ Zeppeli asked.

   ‘Would it matter even if I told you? Habits can’t just be fixed like that… it’s like fate.’

   As the two Trainers continued to race forward, the next phase of the stage revealed itself upon the horizon. The trailing of the last of the mountain’s reach erupted from the land. However, a ravine was present. Deep and wide, it stretched along the land. A forest festooned its innards. The land here was awkward and varied but fortunately, the ground underfoot was firm. The only natural hazards present, obviously, were that of twigs and roots.

   ‘Here it is, folks: the twelve thousand meter mark!’ the commentator explained.

   The landmark they were using to gauge the scale of distance was not natural. It was a bridge, sturdy and newly built, that connected one flat of the ravine to the other. It was wide enough for two wagons to comfortably trundle across it.

   Diego continued to advance. His Sawsbuck’s hooves clicked against the wood; the beating of it sounded unfamiliar and strange as ears were attuned to hearing it against the earth.

   ‘Two lengths! Three lengths!’ the commentator announced as Diego continued to widen the gap between second and third place. ‘He can’t catch up! He can’t catch up! Gyro Zeppeli can’t catch up!’

   Zeppeli stroked his Mudsdale’s jawline and the upper part of its neck. He made kissy noises at it as it arduously continued forward. An affectionate pout moulded Zeppeli’s face despite all the strain and adrenaline.

   ‘Hey,’ he murmured, ‘he says, habits… what’s up with that? You have habits? I didn’t know that. C’mon now, what kind of habits do you have?’

   But that pout, affectionate and playful, morphed to an impressed sort of grin.

   ‘So many powerful rivals; the world’s full of ‘em. But you don’t ever have to fix your habits.’

   Zeppeli straightened up. His right hand snaked down to his side. He unclipped one of his PokeBalls from its sling. As his fingers spread over its top surface, it began to spin beneath his fingertips.

   The PokeBall at his fingertips was empty. It did belong to a captured Pokemon though.

   Zeppeli scooted further down his saddle and swung back his arm. He kept the PokeBall to his Mudsdale’s flank. Its thigh began to turn grotesque as it absorbed the spin. It painlessly spiralled and matched flow to the spin in the PokeBall.

   ‘Hell, for me, put more of your habits into your running.’ Zeppeli murmured.

   His Mudsdale’s ears flicked and he removed his hand from its flank. He clipped the PokeBall back onto his belt. Dust, opaque and almost unreal, erupted from beneath Mudsdale. It took on an almost orange colour. The aura licked up along Mudsdale’s thick and sturdy legs, behaving just like a flame despite the airiness of it, before being absorbed.

   The spiral distorting the flesh of its flank continued to wrench inwards on itself. Its legs wobbled, like it had been freshly born or evolved, and then something changed. But then Mudsdale’s ears flicked again and a fiery determination was lit in its blue-black eyes. It charged forward recklessly.

   A stern, almost gloating expression contorted Zeppeli’s face. His lips, limey and plump, quirked upwards. His eyes glinted; he stroked the back of his Mudsdale’s neck but not in an effort to calm it. He riled up the hair, tugged on its mane.

   ‘Huh, so this is your habit? Swaying left... But no matter, good, yeah, good… Now, Valkyrie, show ‘em your anger - use Heavy Slam!’ Zeppeli yelled.

   ‘Daaale!’ his Mudsdale gave a mighty battle cry in response.

   Mudsdale thundered through. It tore up the bridge in its wake. There was no precision to the destruction. It exerted all its force as it forced itself past Diego and his Sawsbuck. The wood snapped and crunched beneath Mudsdale’s heavier than an iron ingot hooves. Sawsbuck and Diego leaned out of the way as Mudsdale attempted to obliterate all before its path; exerting every ounce of its magnificent weight into the Heavy Slam.

   But there was something peculiar about this Heavy Slam. Naturally; as was the Gyro Zeppeli way after all.

   His Mudsdale had an unusual kick to its run. Its legs jutted out wildly; constantly misplacing itself along the bridge. Every leap seemed to be bigger than it expected and that was setting it off and scaring it. As such, it appeared to panic. Its legs stomped at the air. There was the slightest circular motion though in its hooves with how it was jumping through the air.

   ‘Huh? The bridge - what’s happening?’ the commentator shrieked.

   Zeppeli and his Mudsdale charged onwards. Only upon reaching the final stretch of the bridge did his Mudsdale calm down. Once more in its wake, an entry hazard had been created. The planks of the bridge were torn up; jutting out awkwardly with spiked splinters hanging off each break. It was an utter disaster zone and Diego and his mount were right in the thick of it.

   His Sawsbuck reared up and made distressed noises. Diego grunted and fumed as his knuckles turned red and white with how strongly he was gripping onto his reins. The display was quite the warning to other Trainers.

   The others were working out ways around it. Flying was prohibited but the drop wasn’t terrible. With deft jumping and skill, it would be possible for some mounts to manoeuvre through the ravine without dropping to the bottom. Others had elected to take on the cursed mountain and hurtle through outcrops and rocks. All of that was favourable compared to the chaotic state the bridge was in.

   ‘With the other racers choosing different paths, Dio will be forced to fall behind unless he gets out of there quick!’ the commentator yelled.

   ‘That - That man!’ Diego cursed.

   Johnny and his Zebstrika had chosen to grapple with some of the more unruly rocks along the bridge and go across the remnants of the mountain. His Zebstrika was heavy and sturdy, after all. There was no point in try to jump; unlike those mounted upon Rapidash and similar.

   Johnny watched as Diego struggled. He was certain. He had seen how Zeppeli had used his steel PokeBall strangely on that Mudsdale and it was just like when Johnny’s fingertips had touched it. There had been a peculiar surge of energy that completely and wildly bolstered the strength.


	10. VS THE FOREST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeppeli charges through the forest. Pocoloco tests his luck.

    However, for others, it was as though the chaos and excitement of the Steel Ball Run were mere dreams and moments away. That would be, of course, because Trainer Pocoloco had slept through it all and was now about to get a rude awakening despite how refreshed he was feeling now that he had finally stumbled out of his tent and into the mid-morning sun.

   It was a little warmer out than he expected. Not to mention a lot quieter and emptier than it was yesterday. Beads of sweat gathered along the crown of his head as Pocoloco began to investigate. He saw the clerk from the bureaucratic office and wandered in closer.

   The pudgy man had his nose buried in a newspaper and was sipping from a cheap, white-and-blue mug. Pocoloco approached a tad giggly but in a sort of insincere pretence, and rubbed the back of his head. A little bit of nervousness pinged inside of him but he wasn’t truly worried. He had a trump card after all; in an almost literal sense, even.

   ‘Hahaha…’ he choked out. ‘Sorry to bother you but can I get the time?’

   He thought about the divination he had gotten the other day. The fortune teller was a mystical old woman with hair as white as snow and wrinkled skin as brown as a wizened oak tree. She had a watery smile that was almost a slash upon her face like that of a carved pumpkin. Her eyes had gleamed as she explained her cards; The Lovers on top, and something else beneath which Pocoloco didn’t quite recall. But he would forever remember that voice of hers: eerie, crackling, but ever so wise.

   ‘Pocoloco… the next two months, I guarantee that whatever you do, you will succeed. One out of a hundred and fifty million people! The greatest peak of your life is coming: you should do whatever your heart desires. There’s no need to hesitate; you have no enemies to fear. I see something sparkling in your future no matter what you do.’

   There truly was nothing to fear. Despite missing the start of the race, no one seemed to care. After all, the only person to dispute his entry was the clerk and the clerk cared more about his sandwich than the race currently. And that led to something utterly exhilarating.

   Pocoloco’s heartbeat excitedly in his chest. He grinned ear to ear. He gripped tenaciously onto his mount’s reins. His mount was an impetuous Tauros. The ground underfoot was more than downtrodden. It was soft and bouncy. With all the space they had, their inexperience did not show. For a pair like Pocoloco and his Tauros, the conditions couldn’t be better.

   ‘I’ve never been on ground easier to ride than this!’ Pocoloco hollered as his Tauros dashed forward.

   But something didn’t make sense so he pondered it aloud. He hoped that hearing his own voice would help him understand what was going on.

   ‘Wait, if I’m supposed to be the luckiest man alive right now thanks to that fortune telling stuff… how on Earth did I sleep through the opening of the race?’ Pocoloco asked himself.

   He wasn’t beating himself up over that. He had a prickly hope there was a good reason for it but nevertheless, it didn’t make sense. But, as he mulled it over more and more a sour taste emerged on his tongue.

   ‘This isn’t good luck at all… This’ll be bad!’ he murmured to his Tauros. 

   At least until he got distracted once more by how smooth a ride it had been so far. The ground was well beaten and he was free to see all his heart desired. The wind was soft and a nice, mild temperature. The sun was shining softly. It was really quite spectacular. Moreover, with no one around - bar a few surrounding a vehicle - his Taurus was free to buck and canter and gallop and amble as it pleased. Therefore, he was picking up the pace at an unbelievable speed. He sang praises of this pace upon moving on from mulling over whether or not it was lucky or unlucky to have slept through the beginning of the race.

   As such, Pocoloco was free to overtake those men and their run-down vehicle on the side of the path he was careening down. They were grumbling among themselves; kicking at the dirt.

   ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about the mileage being four hundred miles per litre? Crossing the continent is impossible!’

   ‘Yes, an utter pity, sir. Let’s retire from the race then and return to our home country Kalos, Baron.’

   Pocoloco continued to surge forward. Already, he had caught up to the rest of his fellow Trainers. He was barging his way into the end of the pack now. As he entered the fray, circumstances became a whole lot less lackadaisical already. In front of him, a Zebstrika mount was kicking up dirt and he was being boxed in by a Rapidash mount and the fence sprawling along this part of the countryside.

   Upon one of the pickets, a wanted poster was mounted. It depicted a rat-faced man with a distinctive beard. He was wanted for five thousand for being a habitual burglar. It warned that he may have shaved that beard off.

  As Pocoloco endured forward, he battled much. Dirt and manure were kicked up in the chaotic pounding of hooves. It splattered across Pocoloco’s face and with his slightly parted lips, he got a nasty taste of it all. He also came across a distinctly metallic twang as he wiped at his mouth. He soon picked apart a gold coin from a mound of mud and manure. His eyes widened and then something caught his eye from its corner.

   ‘Agh! Agh! I can’t believe this - there’s manure down my shirt!’

   The Trainer boxing him in on the Rapidash screamed shrilly. The Trainer was a woman in somewhat fancy riding clothes. She reared back and tugged at her shirt. She accidentally tore apart her blouse in order to remove the flecks of mud and manure. Pocoloco got a good eyeful of her voluptuous breasts.

   His eyes widened and he then attempted to discreetly hide his lust. He quickly turned his head and kept charging forth. The lady Trainer began to slow down as she clamped one hand over her torn blouse and kept the other on her reins. Pocoloco continued past and he managed to come within inches of the man mounted on the back of a Zebstrika.

   ‘Crap, it reeks!’ he complained as he scratched off the manure and mud that had smeared across his face.

   Pocoloco overtook that Trainer too in his distraction. He twisted back and watched the distance widened but noticed something. That Trainer mounted on the Zebstrika looked very familiar: eerie eyes and a rodent-like face; the smears of dirt and manure on his face streaked his cheeks like patches of facial hair. Then it struck Pococloco.

   He twisted around once more. The picket fence stump with a wanted poster attached was almost out of view but he could still make out the details. That man looked exactly like the man in the wanted poster. They were almost definitely the same person. Pocoloco swung back around and he felt light as a feather. He couldn’t help but laugh.

   ‘This means… This means it’s all real!’ he yelled out, victorious.

   He felt as though he could laugh all his way to the finishing line. There was nothing that could stop him and his outrageously good luck.

   Pocoloco began to approach the next cluster of Trainers along the route. He reared up when they stopped suddenly. He noticed that there was a deep ravine before but not a bridge in sight.

   The other Trainers barked among themselves: ‘It’s a cliff, goddammit!’

   ‘H-Hey, we strayed from the course!’

   Someone, the leader of this stray pack of Trainers, chucked his head back. His fair skin quickly turned a most fearsome and furious red.

   ‘Dammit! It’s his fault! Where’s he gone? It’s that Isshu-man’s fault! We were following him!’

   For a moment, Pocoloco was confused but soon enough, a peculiar Trainer revealed himself. Out of seemingly thin air, from behind him even, a young man burst through with many acrobatics. He gracefully leaped into the air - above the heads of the Trainers - and somersaulted into the ravine. He had five Pokemon in tow and they all faithfully followed their master into the ravine. Was he supposed to be a Trainer?

   Because he seemed literally insane if he was.

   Then some miraculous happened. He bounced off of the cliff face then ran down it. He had all the athleticism and grace associated with his Mienshao, and then some. All his non-flying Pokemon accompanied him and performed the same acrobatics. His Pokemon capable of flying, such as his Flygon and Cofagrigus, looped around and merely watched and were likely keeping an eye for if any intervention were to become necessary at the last possible second.

   The other Trainers watched. Their bulging eyes and gaping mouths hung slack.

   ‘Did he trick us into following him?’

   ‘I just sort of went along with him because he was running so fast.’

   ‘But look at the map,’ said one man, the flutter of paper accompanied his voice, ‘if we go this way, it’ll cut the trip in two. It’s a shortcut!’

   ‘Yeah, sure, if you wanna injure your mount!’

   Pocoloco was awed, to say the least. His eyes popped open and idea welled up inside of him. A very reckless and risky idea but an idea nevertheless. With his circumstances, his extraordinary luck, he should have no problem executing it. But still, if he was wrong, the consequences would be catastrophic; fatal even.

   Pocoloco bravely decided he was one hundred percent willing to give it a red hot go. He dug his heels into his Tauros’ ribs. It gave a great snort then got moving. It waddled back a little bit then gave a running start into a grand leap. Together, they soared over the heads of the Trainers clustered along the cliffside.

   His leap caught the attention of the Isshu man, Sandman. His eyes widened as he gripped on tightly to the cliff face. It was going to take a little more than a miracle to keep that Tauros safe in this situation.

   ‘I’m the one with one in five hundred million luck; I came to Virbank City believing that. If I’m wrong; that’ll all end here!’ Pocoloco proclaimed. ‘I’m gonna win it and go back home AND LIVE A HAPPIER LIFE!’

   Beneath him, his Tauros’ legs flailed. His belongings flapped around; his rope loosely untethered from the coil it had once been ensnared in. The Tauros railed against the cliff side. Its hooves scraped against the rock; a horrifying sound. It strained its voice as it called out against the cruelty of gravity.

   ‘If you know how to use the rope, use the rope.’ Sandman advised from across the ravine.

   His voice brought clarity and security to Pocoloco. His mind emptied a moment and his body acted without thinking. His heart felt as though it had quit its beating and simply stopped working; and yet his breaths came and went unhindered. His hand reached out for his rope. He pulled it back then lassoed it around a rock at the top of the cliff. His Tauros finally found a foothold and ceased its terrified crooning. Together, he and his Tauros were able to scale the cliff.

   It was a slow, terrifying process but soon they made it. Tauros scrambled over the cliff’s edge and shook its body. It puffed itself up and its fur seemed to have grown bigger. It certainly looked more intimidating than before. Perhaps it's near death experience was now something embarrassing for it and it was trying to shrug it off. Either way, it felt good for Pocoloco’s heart. It seemed to have finally started beating again.

   As Pocoloco and his Tauros slowly started moving away from the cliff’s edge, he wanted Sandman and his Pokemon bounce around. They were in beautiful form. They practically soared over the rough ground on the other side of the ravine. However, even in that top formation and speed, once his Tauros got going, Pocoloco found that he and Sandman were equally matched.

   Pocoloco watched Sandman glide through. He was practically superhuman. He considered the past few minutes of the race. He had complete proof now that his luck was completely outmatched. It was true he had gotten some assistance from the Isshu-man but that didn’t detract from the fact he had survived. That in itself had to be his luck. Still, Pocoloco wasn’t sure how the Isshu-man was doing it.

   He was completely matching speed with his Tauros; not to mention he seemed to have outclassed plenty of other mounts. That man was incredibly confident. He had this look in his serious eyes. They gleamed like gemstones. His whole body language suggested - no, declared - that he was intending to take the win: the championships.

   A few more meters on the route and the two had rejoined the main group. It hadn’t taken them long at all but now they were with the top racers in this championships. Here, it was bustling and busy and noisy. Pocoloco blended in due to being a mount but Sandman stood out like a sore thumb; something he took many advantages from. He was free to flit about like a flee through the crowds.

   Pocoloco approached Johnny and his Zebstrika’s rear. ‘Oi, oi!’ he yelled at him.

   Johnny grunted in acknowledgement.

   ‘Heeey, do you know who the leader is? Wait, are you the leader, I dunno. Your riding style looks lazy! Oi! Who’s the leader?’ Pocoloco pestered Johnny.

   Johnny turned around. Dried blood still smeared down the side of his face. He made no facial expression but his eyes burned with hatred nevertheless. He turned back around and continued urging his Zebstrika onwards.

   Fortunately for Pocoloco, the commentator lady, Maria, had some attention-grabbing statements for him once she got word from up high; from home base on the train with Mr Stephen Steel and company.

   ‘And noooow, they’ve just passed the six thousand metre sign! It’s finally the last third of these fifteen thousand metres of the First Stage! From here on out, it’s a downward climb! The leader is still Gyro Zeppeli! It’s roughly seventy lengths between him and the following group! Will he make a clean escape? Could this race end with his getaway?’

   Pocoloco pointed to the speck in the distant landscape that was Gyro Zeppeli.

   ‘Wait, could it be? Is he the leader?’ Pocoloco asked.

   Johnny glared ahead. In his experience and calculations, Zeppeli’s Mudsdale should be tiring out any moment now. A little less than two thousand and five hundred metres is the reasonable length for speeding up before the clincher of a race and going for the finishing line. But, Johnny hesitated as his reasoning began to crumble, he couldn’t let Zeppeli disappear from his line of sight. If he lost sight of him, he loses the idea of catching up to him altogether.

   To Johnny, this race wasn’t about winning or losing. It wasn’t about the prize money or bonuses. It wasn’t even about becoming Champion. It was all about garnering Zeppeli’s attention and proving himself worthy in Zeppeli’s eyes. The quickest way to do that was to strike early. The first stage was his best opportunity to assert himself onto Zeppeli and the best way to fully utilise the first stage as an opportunity to do so would be to beat him in this leg of the race.

   First, he would have to keep distance.

   And challenge him after the two thousand metre mark!

   ‘What’s this?’ Maria shrieked. ‘Gyro Zeppeli is going off course!’

   Johnny flinched upon hearing that. He squinted into the distance. He watched the dust swirled behind Mudsdale and it was definitely veering off course. Zeppeli was leading it into a thicket of tall and green trees.

   ‘What could he possibly be thinking? Is he taking a shortcut or setting himself up for disaster?’ the commentator yelled. ‘If this shortcut works out for him, he will shave eight hundred to a thousand metres off his riding distance! Gyro Zeppeli is going to take his chances in the forest!’

   Johnny took a breath. His eyes widened. He glanced around. Other racers were getting antsy as a result of Zeppeli’s actions. Zeppeli had set up a honey pot trap out of himself. Were his competitors going to take the gamble?

   There wouldn’t be much room to move in the forest. Zeppeli had already encountered that. A tree branch stuck out and he had to manoeuvre himself around it. His faithful Mudsdale continued to gallop onwards without a second thought. Zeppeli disappeared into the forest.

   Pocoloco and Johnny decided to take up the bet. Johnny kept his body low onto his Zebstrika’s. Pocoloco had a more unusual tactic. He closed his eyes and steadied his breaths. He seemed like a madman equal to only of that of Zeppeli. The race had certainly drawn out the weirdos and put them into the fray.

   Johnny glanced at Pocoloco. He was terrified of him: wide eyes and hitched breaths. What was he doing? He seemed so calm and confident. His demeanour was that of anything but fear. Johnny couldn’t tell what the fellow was thinking. Pocoloco continued ahead whilst Johnny took safer paths. That’s when an idea, a mere thought, tickled Johnny. He realised that it was as though Pocoloco was testing something; himself, perhaps?

   Johnny held back. He swallowed. He let Pocoloco pass him. Pocoloco was headed straight for a tree; gnarled and fully in bloom with verdant foliage.

   ‘Number 777 is the first to drop in!’ Maria announced.

   Pocoloco confidently charged through. His eyes tightly closed. He beamed as he paraded through the forest on the back of his Tauros. Haughty with possibly, rightfully placed confidence. He reasoned that if he were not so fortunate and blessed, he wouldn’t have made it this far in the race already so, therefore, he had nothing to fear. He would make it through this forest with his eyes closed - and he would dare to think so that he would not encounter challenge at all!

   Nothing would cause him to fall off his mount. He would not even be lightly scratched by passing branches. Or so Pocoloco posed his own challenge to the terrain of this route.

   From on high, Maria swivelled around in the hot air balloon basket. She held a telescope to her eye and watched. With her companion Noibat and Loudred by her side, her voice would reach every ear. From where she was situated, being pulled along gently by the wind, the mounts looked like children’s toys.

   ‘The three thousand and six hundred mounts are splitting off into two groups! Despite the one thousand metres, people are choosing to play it safe! Will those who have thrown caution to the wind be rewarded or is it slow and steady to win this race?’ Maria commentated.

   Johnny kept himself low. He inhaled the musty, stale smell of his Zebstrika’s fur as he kept himself so closely pinned to its neck and back of its head. His eyes searched frantically through the sun-dappled and shadowy forest. It seemed futile now. Zeppeli had completely disappeared from Johnny’s line of sight but the panic revved him up. Futility turned to determination.

   Behind him, came an ungodly scream. Soon enough, a rider with a dual barrel rifle cocked came rollicking through like a madman. He overtook Johnny then ceased his fidgeting with his rifle; it was ready to be shot, apparently. He pulled the trigger and his bullets ripped through the tree branch before him. The branch crunched as the bullet sped through it. It tore away from the main trunk of the tree. Its debris scattered over the head of the shooter.

   The man, once cackling with a premature victory, took the branch to his face. It violently battered against his face. He was knocked off his mount; he hugged onto both his rifle and the tree branch. His blood, freely spurting from his nose and various cuts across his face, scattered in the air. His mount kept on galloping onwards; unfazed by having lost its master. No doubt, it may be glad to be free from such a man.

   A second madman overtook Johnny. He had a different strategy to the gunman. This vagrant was armed with a sword of some description. He raised it high. He had a few successful cuts through lesser branches. His arrogance grew with each successful swing of his sword. His hips and legs rode out each bucking leap of his mount beneath him. He attempted to slash through the branch which obscured his path and posed a hazard. His sword ate into the branch but the branch proved stronger. The branch bit back.

   Much like his predecessor with the rifle, the swordsman was knocked off his mount. His mount raced onwards. Again, perhaps glad to be free of such a reckless vagrant master but who knows for certain. Either way, it joyously met up with the other loosened mount and the pair were now charging off zealously.

   Meanwhile, Pocoloco’s eyes remained closed as he charged almost serenely through the forest. The forest did not challenge Pocoloco or his mount. He and his Pokemon were in perfect unison; even their nostrils seemed to flare in time with each other as every breath, every swell of their sides, helped push them through the forest. His eyes remained curiously closed. Not a twig interrupted their path. By near, almost spectacular miss, Pocoloco’s head remained unscathed as branches, pointed and unfeeling, attempted to touch him.

   Johnny followed Pocoloco’s path. Of course, he wasn’t nearly as having such as tranquil ride as him. Johnny watched, asunder, as Pocoloco accelerated. His eyes still firmly shut. Johnny reeled in disbelief.

   He resolved to work out the secret of Pocoloco’s serenity. He analysed Pocoloco’s demeanour. It was certainly true that Pokemon mimic the psyche of their master and by entrusting total control onto the mount, Pocoloco could possibly ride through as he was now. But it seemed so unlikely to have such an eccentric tactic be met with such success. It was nigh impossible but completely and utterly lucky of him. There had to be a limit.

   Johnny’s Zebstrika hoofed it. It sped up and Pocoloco’s Tauros allowed it to be overtaken. Johnny was shaken by the experience. There was no way that Pocoloco would allow such a feat; even with his eyes closed. Johnny whipped his head back and watched as Pocoloco’s luck appeared to run out. And that was not a very pretty sight.

   A twig, a sprightly and sharp thing, reached out and scratched up his eyebrow and the skin above it. Blood was drawn. Pocoloco’s eyes fluttered open as he registered the sensation of being scratched. He instinctively touched his forehead. His fingers became damp with blood.

   He continued to ride on wherein the second branch from an obstinate tree grabbed him. It took him by the sleeve of his shirt and yanked him back as though possessed. In his distraction, Pocoloco’s Tauros veered off of the clear path. It ran beneath a low lying, thick branch. It also took Pocoloco with it.

   Pocoloco slammed into the branch. His body wound around it upon impact. His ear to the top side of the branch. His collarbones to the bottom of it. His legs dangled. He was horrible winded. He hoarsely coughed up blood.

   His eyes widened. ‘N-No way…’

   He reached out futilely. Eventually, he collapsed beneath the tree. To make matters worse, his number one rival in this race finally revealed himself in the thicket once more. He had returned from the shadows and foliage from where he vanished.

   Gyro Zeppeli zig-zagged through the trees. He was not unlike a silvery streak but it was no Quick Attack.

   Pocoloco was proven as a boring freak; someone who bends luck rather than practice. Then there was Zeppeli. He had easily swooped back into the line of sight and into the first place position. He and his mount were making good speed but Johnny could see a twinge of paranoia in his body language. He kept furtively checking around.

   Zeppeli wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. He was nervy all of a sudden. He kept making monsters out of the shadows in the corner of his eye. Well, not monsters. More like phantom mounts. He remembered that there had been a few people to have lost their mounts during this stretch of forest so it was entirely possible for it to have been one of those mounts. Surely wild Pokemon would not interfere with so many humans in the area.

   Further down the forest, Zeppeli confirmed what he thought. There was a riderless mount back there. Zeppeli shook his head and reconstructed his focus. There was nothing to worry about.

   But that wasn’t entirely true. That mount, a Tauros, still had its rider. Its rider was merely not on its back but rather, his foot still in the stirrup and was being dragged recklessly through the forest.

   The Tauros overtook Johnny. Johnny reared back and gritted his teeth. It was ridiculous and risky. By falling off his mount, Pocoloco would be able to manoeuvre through areas in the forest that were only big enough for a Pokemon to navigate. His back would be shredded on the forest floor and he was already bloody as anything but still, there was a chance the reward would be worth the risk.

   Zeppeli continued to dart through the forest. He easily went in and out between the trees. His Mudsdale perfectly obeyed the choppy, touch-and-go commands. He breezed between the trees but nevertheless, Pocoloco continued to approach.

   Pocoloco yelled and screamed. Possibly from terror but also possibly from the jubilant celebration of his luck in this situation.

   Johnny glared as he tried to work out what exactly Pocoloco’s deal was. Was that a coincidence or was that calculation? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps he shouldn’t have written Pocoloco off as a boring freak just yet as his riding style was too unpredictable for such a title.

   Zeppeli checked over his shoulder. Any sense of serenity he had prior, having quelled his nerves over riderless mounts earlier, completely shattered. His eyes widened as he watched the Tauros charge towards him with its rider dangled from the stirrup attached to its rugged saddle. Zeppeli swerved himself back around and he detached a PokeBall from the holsters hanging off him. In front of him was a terrain hazard he simply couldn’t plough forward upon Mudsdale’s back so he quickly devised a way to rid the area of the clustered, spindly trees.

   ‘Go, go, Big Jack!’ Zeppeli yelled. ‘Use Rollout!’

   He tossed his PokeBall upwards. It spun on its side and opened vertically also. Out popped a large Snorlax from the minuscule PokeBall.

   It outstretched its arms dumbly before curling up into a ball; thankfully whilst still in midair. It landed with an enormous thud and then tilted upwards wherein it rolled forward. It picked up speed.It rammed down the trees and flattened them using the full extent of its accelerated weight. The trees twisted around; as though imbued with the spin.

   Snorlax toddled away from the area and was quickly returned to its PokeBall once Zeppeli had charged through the cleared area. Now, he and his Mudsdale were in the clear. They galloped through and left the forest behind. The grass was paler here, a tad yellow and the sky could be seen without the tops of trees. They had made it out of the woods. And first, at that.

   ‘Oh! One horse has made it from the forest! They’ve made it from the forest - one horse! It’s Gyro Zeppeli! It’s Gyro Zeppeli, as to be expected!’ It’s a success; Zeppeli has shaved eight hundred metres off of the route by taking the detour!

   Enflamed by a competitive spirit, Tauros jealously and wildly surged forward. It kicked and bucked and finally rid itself of the extra weight: Pocoloco. Pocoloco slammed into a tree trunk. His body collided with it and his breath and blood sputtered before his eyes. He curled up; almost fetal. Was this it? Was this his defeat?

   Of course not for Pocoloco has supreme luck.

   As his eyes fluttered open, a PokeBall in his bag had been shaken loose. He was dizzy and bewildered but he was certain. He saw glimpses of sunshine, no not sunshine: starlight. He saw shimmers and sparkles of something that felt distinctly cosmic. His PokeBall wobbled by his side as he gathered himself.

   Click!

   Pocoloco’s attention was caught. He picked up his PokeBall, a green object crafted from an Apricorn, and inspected it. Did he just catch something? He couldn’t work it out. It seemed heavier than normal. He shook his head. A peculiar energy surged through him and that was more than enough to reform his resolve. He would work out the mystery of this PokeBall later.

   ‘Wait? What’s this?’ Maria the commentator shrieked. ‘A second mount is gaining on Zeppeli!’

   Zeppeli turned his head to confirm the claims of the commentator. His eyes widened as he watched a man on the back of Tauros approach with a forceful charge. He exuded confidence.  

   ‘Who the heck is this? What’s going on? Even though Gyro Zeppeli was so far ahead coming out of the forest, someone has already caught up to him!’

   ‘It’s true! I really am a lucky guy!’ Pocoloco bellowed in jubilation. He pumped his fist in the air as he beamed; split lip and all. ‘I got hit by a tree and was knocked back onto the saddle!’

   ‘Who is this guy?’ Zeppeli murmured, almost bitterly. ‘He must have some kind of Ability to have pulled that off.’

   ‘There’s a sign up ahead; it says four thousand metres remaining! After the downhill and the farm, there’s two thousand metres of straight riding from there onwards towards the goal!’ Maria yelled.


	11. VS THE HILLS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pocoloco's unusual strategy and brand new ace Pokemon bisects with Sandman's entrance.

   Through swaying, yellow-green grass came innumerable, thundering hooves. But only one swiftly coursed downhill. The rest were emerging from the forest, by now or had overtaken those who had played dice with the woods.

   ‘Only the Devil’s Downhill remains before them! With four thousand metres between them and sweet victory, this will be the stage for the final battle between the top competitors! Still on top is Gyro Zeppeli!’ Maria the commentator yelled.

   Alongside the almost empty countryside, a wooden fence snaked through. A Tauros skull hung off one of the anchors. Zeppeli kept somewhat close to it. The fence made for a good guide through this area. At the bottom of the hills, a cosy, little house could be seen. A few tame Pokemon grazed; fattening themselves up on the decent grass growing here.

   As Zeppeli continued down the hills, uneven and considerably steep, Pocoloco continued to gain on him. Further down, the sound of hooves became all the more prominent. The main crowd had finally caught up, somewhat, to the speed Zeppeli was setting.

   ‘There’s two thousand metres between them and the farm! This downhill area can be as high as fifty metres with thirty-degree slopes! The Trainers must keep that in mind; they must ride slower! Even as people overtake! Accelerating here is too risky! The legs of your mount are almost certain to wear out here, folks! Endure it everyone; hold a steady pace even if you're boxed in or scattered! There are no exceptions! The same way a well will dry up, the previous eleven thousand metres worth of energy will be wasted!’ Maria announced.

   ‘Easy, steady, don’t let the other Pokemon distract you.’ Johnny murmured to his Zebstrika.

   The farm seemed to draw ever closer with each passing second. The incline of the hills seemed to lessen. The wind was cooler here; more relaxing after the hot sunshine further up the hill.

   ‘They’re almost at there! But it would be tawdry to accelerate now - keep your pace, fellas! From here on out, keep enduring: I’m cheering for you!’ Maria excitedly informed the masses.

   Of course, the farm seemed closest to those at the front. Zeppeli held onto his Mudsdale’s reins tightly as it fastidiously kept to a safe but swift pace. He was a tad nervous. He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t make heads or tails from that expression, smug and confident, smeared on Pocoloco’s face.

   Zeppeli didn’t feel as though he had made any mistakes in the forest. However, that didn’t account for how Pocoloco had behaved in there. He was erratic and eccentric. His manoeuvres were damn near impossible to pull off. It was nigh impossible for him to have caught up during the forest and yet here he was: closing the distance as best he could in these dangerously hilly conditions.

   Zeppeli stroked the patch of hair and skin behind his Mudsdale’s ear.

   ‘Don’t you worry about your back. Build up your strength slowly… But stay in the lead. And once we pass that farm,’ Zeppeli murmured as he cracked an excited smile, ‘then, I’ll let you explode into action!’

   His Mudsdale whinnied with an eagerly victorious tint to its voice.

   ‘Oh, dear; someone can’t take the slow pace! He’s flying right up in there, near Zeppeli and Number 777!’ Maria yelled.

   Pocoloco turned over his shoulder. He watched as someone foolishly began to charge forward. He cackled madly; over-confident and impatient. Pocoloco gritted his teeth. He wasn’t in the position to anything that wouldn’t endanger himself if mistakes were made. The best he could do would be to soothe his Tauros’ growing rage over the controlled running. He ruffled its thick fur along its shoulder blade.

   ‘Don’t worry; we have one in a hundred and fifty million luck! Once we pass this farm… you can do anything! Once we charge our energy… we can do anything!’ he declared.

   His Tauros pawed at the ground and restrained itself from anything damaging. It seemed to burst with newfound energy. He turned his head and he passed the Tauros skull mounted on a pike. Something about it, something sparkly, caught his eye.

   Bright lights, red, green and yellow, twinkled around in circular patterns. A mystical sort of noise was made. A creature emerged from playful hiding with bright eyes. It clambered curiously around the planks of the fence.

   Despite clearly being some kind of Pokemon, it was capable of human speech. Pocoloco couldn’t believe his eyes or ears but it seemed true. It reached out to him; pawed at him. It spoke to him.

   ‘Master Pocoloco! Pocoloco!’ the voice, cheeky and cheery, ‘there’s the Bouffalant, remember the Bouffalant!’

   Pocoloco turned his head again. The creature, whatever it was, had disappeared from where it had wound itself around the fence. He felt dizzy. His eyes widened. The sun beat hard on his back and he was as wet as a riverbank with sweat. He licked his lips. They were dry. So was his mouth.

   ‘Hey, hey! Don’t get distracted! Or else you might fall off your mount, and you’re not supposed to fall off yet.’

   The surprise of hearing that imp-like voice shocked Pocoloco to his core. He couldn’t work out where it was coming from but it sounded so close. Then, he looked down his leg. Creeping out from beneath the belly of his Tauros, a Pokemon emerged. Up close, Pocoloco could see it better. He’d never seen a Pokemon like it before. There’s no way such a creature could exist in right.

   Before his eyes, it disappeared again. He rubbed at his eyes; shook himself free from whatever was happening. Or, at the very least, what he was fooled into thinking was happening thanks to the heat or something.   

   ‘Huh? Maybe it’s ‘cause I feel off my mount back there in the forest… I’m seein’ things; hallucinating.’ he grumbled to himself.

   A cold touch seeped through his sleeves on his shoulders. A cold but gentle touch, that is. The creature had teleported to his back. It clambered over him and gave him something akin to a hug. Then, it continued speaking to him.

   ‘You’re going to do it, right? I mean, your the man with one in fifty million luck, go! You’ve got this! Don’t you worry, I’ve got this - we’ve got this! Go for it, it’ll all work out fine; leave it to me, even. I liked the look of you so we’re partners from now on. You’ve got a friend in me, pal.’

   Pocoloco realised something extremely important. This creature - no, this Pokemon - was the one he had accidentally caught in the forest. That’s why his PokeBall had fallen out and filled up mysteriously by itself. Somehow, he had caught the attention of a very rare and extremely mysterious Pokemon. It talked, for crying out loud!

   He really did have supreme fortune.

  ‘Then, if we’re pals, I’m gonna call you ATLiens.’

   ‘I like that name a lot!’

   Pocoloco smiled weakly but that smile turned to an expression of unrightfully earned confidence. He relaxed. His muscles loosened and so did his inhibitions. He would trust this Pokemon’s wisdom.

   He pointed to Zeppeli and called out to him in challenge: ‘Yo! You! Guy in front: is that all you can do? I proclaim that once I pass you, you will never take the lead back from me, the great and mighty Pocoloco!’

   Zeppeli frowned. It was mostly out of confusion but then he shed that cynicism and took the proclamation in jest; what it had to have been intended as. He turned his head and grinned toothily. His golden grill shone in the sunshine. His eyes narrowed.

   ‘Did you say something? You were talking to my ass and I can’t hear with my ass.’ he replied, full of cheek.

   Pocoloco sneered. ‘You better move; fall behind, freak!’

   There was a moment of silence between them wherein they could only hear the wind. Then, Pocoloco yanked on the chocolate brown reins attached to his Tauros. His Tauros leapt forward. Zeppeli’s heart was shot as he watched, uselessly, as Pocoloco charged forward.

   His Tauros, boldly, recklessly, overtook Zeppeli’s Mudsdale.

   Jaws dropped all around him. Johnny lifted himself partially from his lowered stance. Even he couldn’t believe it.

   Pocoloco and his Tauros continued to surge forward. They foolishly leapt through the hill. His Tauros sailed through the air gorgeously; in perfect form. It was a delicate manoeuvre but it was stomping through all precautions and common sense.

   ‘Amazing, Number 777 flew out in front!’ Maria yelled in disbelief.

   There was a moment, wherein she received information from on high. Then, she continued with the details for those at home; on the train.

   ‘His name is Pocoloco from Nuvema Town! Twenty-one years old and he has no ace Pokemon registered! He rides a Tauros known as “Hey Ya” - he will be one to watch!’ Maria yelled. ‘And - And he’s passed Gyro Zeppeli!’

   Pocoloco ran out in front of Zeppeli. His Tauros kicked up grass with each, scrambling gallop. Zeppeli flinched as he reared back; making safe decisions but ones that would potentially cost him the lead.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli is holding back!’ Maria yelled.

   ‘Steady, steady.’ Johnny whispered to his Zebstrika.

   He approached from the outside. He watched the events unfold and made his own judgements; under his breath. He couldn’t allow himself to be pulled into the orbit of the leading mounts. This was where things would get dangerous and recklessness was nowhere near a virtue. Superficial choices and short-term decisions would lead to fatal mistakes. There was no doubt about it.

   Others were not so imbued with foresight. Drawn in by temptation, other mounts began to accelerate at the rash command of their Trainers.

   ‘Other riders in the rear have joined the fray! They’re also accelerating! And Zeppeli is catching up on Pocoloco - about fifteen lengths!’ Maria commentated. ‘But this is foolishness; it’s not a challenge… it’s recklessness! This is a poor tactic on these slopes! The sound of these hooves are a requiem for what is to come!’

   Zeppeli growled under his breath; frowning: ‘Damn… but? If?’

   His words cut on his tongue. He refused to give into the temptation that had seduced the other Trainers. He recalled how Pocoloco had behaved in the forest. His tactics there had been unprecedented but they had worked. After all, he had let his Tauros drag him through the forest at parts so it could fit easily in vague paths. So maybe he was flying forward like this with some sort of unconventional plan in mind.

   Pocoloco continued forth. His eyes were narrowed. He appeared cool, calm and collected. Even with the riders racing behind him. He was utterly unfazed.

   Zeppeli glared at the horizon. The cosy little farmhouse was slowly becoming bigger amid the hills and plains. If Pocoloco managed to hit the flatlands by the farm, there was no telling what sort of freedom he would have access to. The distance he would create would be catastrophic for Zeppeli.

   Zeppeli huffed. Change of plans. He refused to acknowledge Pocoloco. His eyes settled on the farm. If he could ignore Pocoloco and focus on what had to be done now to preserve himself and his current speed then everything would work out fine. All Zeppeli and his Mudsdale had to do was endure.

   Zeppeli calmly handled his Mudsdale’s reins. His ears pricked up. Behind him, utter entropy manifested. It was likely punishment for acceleration on these unforgiving, deceivingly placid-looking hills.

   A gruesome pile-up occurred. Mounts buckled beneath their weight. Trainers were thrown from their saddles. Creatures writhed and wriggled against each other. There was a chilling crunch and no doubt, someone - perhaps many - had been injured - perhaps even killed - in the accident. It was a fitting punishment, though, for their hubris. Despite constant warning from Maria, these fools had still decided to test nature and exhaustion on these hills.

   ‘Two Trainers have fallen off! If you don’t take these hills seriously, you may wind up dead!’ Maria yelled.

   Johnny was sick to his stomach. There was nothing worse than seeing someone crushed beneath their mount but his safety came first. He was right in the direction of the pile-up and he refused to become a part of it.

   His Zebstrika elegantly sailed over part of the pile up. He was stony faced; grim. He would give these hills, these dangers, the respect they deserved. Similarly, Zeppeli continued to surge forward. He was of same thinking to Johnny. He didn’t want to be caught up in that mess either.

   Pocoloco shuddered. He realised now, in utter horror, what dangers these seemingly serene hills presented. His fear channeled into his Tauros. His Tauros felt that terror and that weakened its resolved. Its legs quivered and it tripped.

   At first, it was a small falter. Nothing Pocoloco thought he ought to be concerned by. His voice rang out in foolishly triumphant tones.

   ‘It’s fine! We’re lucky!’

   He smiled in premature victory but that small falter rippled through his Tauros’ whole body. It went head-over-hooves. His things were flung off their hooks on the saddle. Pocoloco, much like his belongings, was also thrown off his saddle; his hands gripped tightly onto his reins despite his abject surprise. His Tauros whinnied as it accepted disastrous injury.

   But something fortunate and miraculous occurred first.

   His new Pokemon, ATliens, popped out again. The raised, jewel-like orbs on its club-like limbs flashed and scattered multi-coloured lights. It frowned and a great, magenta light encased Pocoloco and itself. But, in the midst of a large cloud of dust, this light went unseen.

   ‘Pocoloco was impudent and now he’s paying for it! He’s fallen down!’ Maria yelled.

   ‘Thank you very much.’ Zeppeli muttered, he clicked his tongue.

   He continued to race forward. He couldn’t see much through the dust but he didn’t want to count Pocoloco out just yet. Nevertheless, he did easily take over from Pocoloco at the safe and sane speed he was going.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli resumes the mantle of being first! And now, right on schedule, Zeppeli is almost close to passing the farm and reaching the flatlands at the bottom of these hills!’ Maria commentated.

   Zeppeli lifted his head and his eyes widened. He was certain he saw that yellow helmet belonging to Pocoloco pop up from a rivet in the hills. Soon, Pocoloco revealed himself. He was moving fast.

   ‘What the hell? What’s goin’ on?’ Zeppeli murmured, in disbelief.

   ‘W-W-Wait? Pocoloco isn’t down! If anything, he’s moving at a greater speed than before! He’s safe! He’s safe! But what’s he riding?’ Maria shrieked. ‘Only one mount was to be registered per Trainer; he could be disqualified for switching out!’

   Pocoloco revealed himself. He was still riding on the back of his Tauros. However, his Tauros was kneeling on the rotted body of a Bouffalant. Its mane, curly and fuzzed, was knotted. Its regular hair, however, was almost completely fallen out. Its body was thin and its bones poked through the green-brown flesh. It stank unbelievably. Nevertheless, Pocoloco continued to ride it.

   ‘This fucking… what the hell?’ Zeppeli was astounded.

   He had no choice but to come to a sole, if a little insane, conclusion about Pocoloco: it was all calculation. This guy’s actions weren’t piled up coincidences or plain stupidity, it was calculation. He knew all these things or else he wouldn’t have been able to pull off such absurd strategies. Zeppeli further concluded that his number one enemy in this race was Pocoloco.

   Zeppeli glanced at the sky. But that Bouffalant corpse had been so out of the way, that must mean that Pocoloco was getting help from something or someone. He must have some sort of flyer on his team and it had to be relaying information back to him somehow.

   According to the commentator lady, he hadn’t registered as having an “ace” Pokemon. Wait, Zeppeli scared to himself with this thought: was it possible that Pocoloco had raised such a terrifyingly strong team that he had no way to discern who his best was?

   Zeppeli tried not to think too hard on that one. But, strangely enough, he looked forward to one day being challenged to a proper battle by Pocoloco. That would be the only way to quell the competition between them and elect who was stronger. Pocoloco would prove to be a fearsome enemy.

   Little did he realise, of course, that he had already thought too much on the subject altogether.

   ‘It’s a… It’s a dead body! Pocoloco is sliding down on the hill on a dead body! Somehow, a dead Bouffalant was hidden in the long grass!’

   ‘Wonderful! Yeeehaaaw!’ Pocoloco sang out. ‘This is no hallucination: this is all my good luck! But damn was I surprised!’

   ‘Shit! This is terrible! His Tauros isn’t even running; it’s resting! Once we reach the farm, it’ll be fully rested!’ Zeppeli yelled, agitated.

   He smirked though. He turned his frustrations to something a little more productive. He unlatched a PokeBall from one of the straps on him.

   ‘I don’t know the exact rules off the top of my head but I’ll bet that your mount has to be running and alive to count in this race…’ he murmured to himself. ‘Go, go, Mean Streak!’

   He tossed out his PokeBall. The spin that accompanied it noticeable once more; to those who knew to look for it, of course. Out of it, emerged a somewhat large creature lumbered forward. A Krookodile lumbered forward. It snapped and closed its mouth rapidly and scratched at the air.

   ‘Use Rock Smash on those mountain outcrops!’ Zeppeli instructed; he pointed at the spot

   With a mighty roar, his Krookodile set to work. Despite being large, it was quick on its feet. It struck the base of the outcrop with its clawed fist. The outcrop rumbled and shook. First, only dust broke free and skittered over the crown of Krookodile’s head but then, pebbles followed. Finally, entire rocks burst free.

   ‘Return, Mean Streak!’ Zeppeli yelled.

   His Krookodile was snatched by the spin of its PokeBall and dissipated into nothing. The dust crumbled and pebbles tumbled. A large rock came loose. Its coarse underside grated against the coarse topside of the outcrop it had once been a part of. A foot, a human foot, stepped onto the rock.

   And with that rock, the person came tumbling down too. His footing threatened to falter but he remained sturdy despite conditions. His arms and braids swung as he fell through the air; feet firmly planted atop that large piece of rock.

   ‘What?’ Zeppeli was taken aback by the turn of events. He hadn’t meant for that.

   But then, things became strange.

   With complete faith, a herd of assorted Pokemon followed in tow of the man, Sandman. Sandman hopped down from that rock and swung himself around so he followed the last trails of the mountainous outcrop as it faded into the ground. His Pokemon, those that could not fly anyway, skilfully followed in his precise movements. Those movements were superhuman.

   ‘Wh-Who’s that? Why is somebody on the track?’ Zeppeli questioned his own eyes.

   Sandman overtook Pocoloco who was ever increasing in speed. He wasn’t concerned in the slightest, judging by his grim and focused expression, about the Pokemon in tow. He kept surging forward. He had an efficient running style. As did his non-flying Pokemon. It was a spectacular and unbelievable sight.

   ‘He broke into the top spot faster than I can speak! Who is he? Who is this person? He’s running downhill with his own legs! Which route did he take? Where did he come from?’ Maria shrieked.

   He kept running forward. He was so focused, it was as though he had tuned the world out.

   ‘Wait, I just got confirmation: he’s Sandman! His name is Sandman, according to the registration! This race is impossible to predict as we enter the final stretch!’ Maria yelled.


	12. VS THE STAGE ONE FINISHING LINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion to the First Stage of the Steel Ball Run race.

   Lucy Steel excitedly clutched onto the binoculars she had been given. She leaned out the train window and eagerly stared into the distance. Great plumes of white-grey smoke streaked through the air, along the back of the black train that snaked through the countryside. From here, it was hard to witness the intensity of the race.

   ‘They passed the two thousand metre mark.’ Lucy sounded breathless; her eyes glittered with awe. ‘The train is finally rounding the hill. What’s going on? What’s happening?’

   She was enamoured with the race. Her husband’s dream had come to fruition but it was hard to witness from this distance. She glanced at Mr Steel. He was stony-faced but he always put on a facade around the press clustered around them both. She had no doubt he was reverberating with excitement on the inside; like a young boy.

   However, around them, everyone else was free with their excitement. Fists pounded and voices were raised.

   ‘He’s running on foot? How’s that even possible?’

   ‘He’s runnin’ faster than the mounts!’

   The Bouffalant corpse Pocoloco had been riding was shredded as Tauros stood up and launched from it. Its remains, stringy and foul, were flung backwards. The top three positions swerved around, following the fence line and it cured with the countryside. The farmhouse was soon left behind. With the flat ground, no one was afraid to accelerate.

   The top three positions were close and tight. Despite all disadvantages, Sandman was making headway on foot and was keeping his first place position close to his heart. His Pokemon had teamed up to keep pace with him. His Miensho and Simipour had hitched a ride with his Flygon and despite the extra weight, Flygon was doing fine. His Cofagrigus and Sigilyph were flying fine with no extra weight. His Pokemon barricaded Sandman’s back and put up defences so Pocoloco couldn’t easily barge through.

   In second position, was of course, Pococloco. He wasn’t currently questioning his luck. He was still a tad miffed about Sandman’s sudden appearance and the use of the Bouffalant corpse as a toboggan of sorts. However, he had donned quite the poker face. None of this confusion wrought his cocky, if slightly angered, face.

   Meanwhile, in third place, Zeppeli was doing valiantly despite the unexpected. He was in their tailwind. All three of them were streaking perfectly along in an assembly line of sorts. Zeppeli was cool and calm. He was collecting ideas and calculations. His Mudsdale was leaning in a tad but he didn’t mind. It was all part of his plan to usurp first and second positions.

   Zeppeli’s Mudsdale lunged forward. It’s nose nudged up against one of Tauros’ tails. Anything to get close and personal with Pocoloco; to throw him off course. Anything to take him over.

   An outcropping of ochre red-brown rock, superficially unconnected to the nearby mountain range, jutted from the grassy plain. It reached out to bumpy and tall, calloused rocks. It obscured the finishing line. It ran parallel to the train tracks.

   Sandman swung himself towards those rocks. He easily navigated the new terrain. He hopped through it was insane speeds. As the mounts were forced to take the long way, Sandman took his chances with the outcropping. He and his Pokemon were utterly skilled at navigating it.

   ‘Just look at Sandman go!’ yelled Maria. ‘Now he’s running over those rocks! This downhill race will end soon and the final straight will be seen! Running time has entered seventeen minutes!’

   Jaws dropped. Binoculars were clutched in disbelief. The reporters and socialite and gentlemen and everyone else who had boarded Mr Steel’s train exchanged all sorts of looks and words. Shock and surprise, being most common.

   ‘A human outrunning both a Tauros and a Mudsdale.. Most mounts in general, eh?’ Mr Steel mused as he looked down the dual-barrels of his binoculars. He lowered them and mused to the flabbergasted folk around him.

   ‘Yes, rationally it sounds impossible. But it makes sense when you realise he’s going at a thirty kilometres per hour.’

   ‘Hang on a second there, Mr Steel.’

   Someone’s voice jabbed him with concern and cynicism. Not a combination Mr Steel favoured but one he was familiar with nevertheless. He remained logical, though. He watched with sharp eyes and a grim facial expression. If anything, that utter seriousness concerned the squarish faced man more.

   ‘D-Did you say… thirty?’ he asked.

   Mr Steel rubbed his chin. ‘No, it might be closer to forty kilometres.’

   ‘Forty… Is that even possible? Sandman’s speed? What the fuck are you talking about? Running one hundred metres in ten seconds would be… thirty-six kilometres an hour! The world record ain’t even close to that! Running a long distance marathon in two hours is only twenty-one kilometres per hour!’

   Sandman continued racing alongside the mounts. Seemingly effortlessly, he crossed the rocky outcropping. His form was perfect. He was a blur and streak. It was as though he were performing his own version of Quick Attack or Extreme Speed. It was both alarming and intriguing to break all expectations of the perceived, human athletic ability. But first and foremost, above all else, watching Sandman’s capabilities drawn out like this was astounding.

   ‘He really is outrunnin’ ‘em mount ‘mons.’

   ‘And the secret is in his running style.’ Mr Steel realised. ‘It all makes sense. Look at how he’s running over those cliffs. I think I can now explain how he’s running at these absurd speeds.

   ‘When humans run, there’s an impact when the foot hits the ground… the force of that blow knocks the joints and any muscles around the to become fatigued. There isn’t a way around it: even the strongest legs will get tired. But, in Sandman’s case, when he runs his heel only touches the ground for an instant. That changes the flow of impact! Therefore, that style of running, the flow of impact is redirected to his toes. Then, he kicks off again; using the impact to propel him forward. So, he’s able to reduce fatigue and damage whilst recycling the energy to further accelerate himself. This way… his speed increases every time he kicks off the rocks. Understand now?’

   There was a moment wherein Maria was the given the information to relay to a wider audience.

   ‘And there ya have it, folks! The secret to Sandman’s success: that’s how he’s going forty kilometres an hour!’ Maria yelled.

   The crowds continued to observe as Sandman crossed the rocks. His jumps were perfectly executed. His system of running was apparently flawless.

   ‘Hm, and he’s probably kicking the ground too, when he hits it. Letting out the energy and reducing the impact again.’ Mr Steel mused. ‘The longer he’s in the air, the more time his muscles get the chance to relax. His heels are probably as smooth and soft as an infant’s. Doesn’t that make you want to run like that, though? But it's not a style for everyone; requires long legs and unbelievable agility. Wonder where he learned that style, eh? Reckon he learned it from his surroundings or tribe?’

   ‘And now he’s climbing the rocks!’ Maria howled. ‘Using his hands, feet, and all his muscles in his glorious body, he’s just like a Liepard, prowling this terrain! He doesn’t put any force on his feet as it's much faster here on the rocks!’

   Sandman’s style of navigating the higher rocks he couldn’t leap to was almost bestial. It evoked animalistic inspiration: like it had been perfect for observation. He was so graceful. He was a strong contender for the win after that inglorious leap into the big leagues due to Zeppeli’s interference.

   ‘Sandman’s style puts the whole Earth on his side! So long as the Steel Ball Run uses land as its stage, we can’t predict the outcome even if the mounts are as swift as this man! I am excited to see him in battle: if this keeps up, Sandman may just encounter President Valentine’s first state-sanctioned Trainer!’ Maria announced.

   Meanwhile, in Sandman’s shadow, Zeppeli and Pocoloco were locked in their own fierce and gripping race as they sped around the long and boring way. They whipped around the natural curve of the land. Dirt and rock was sent flying in their fearsome rake. They bolted through the land.

   Maria, noticing their rivalry, drew attention back to them with a decisive shout.

   ‘After Sandman, it’s Pocoloco and only a mount’s length away from him is Gyro Zeppeli! The rest of the pack have finished coming downhill! We’ve run nearly thirteen thousand metres! The wind from Ficapica Ocean is blowing; the wind known as “Santana” is blowing harder now - communications may become disrupted… aaah!’ Maria’s announcements faded off into a girlish, somewhat terrified scream.

   Zeppeli glared ahead. His hair was being battered by both his movements and the wind.

   ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ he growled; his voice distorted by all the external influence but he could barely hear himself think.

   ‘He’s ahead of me after resting a good thousand metres on that hill… And that running man from the cliff; he took a shortcut. But this stage only has one enemy and that’s him. In the forest, the dead Bouffalant, hell… even stopping Mean Streak’s trap. That’s too many coincidences! Something must be helping him? A Pidgey maybe; up in the air… no, a Pidove? Then again, a long time ago now, I once saw a man in a casino who bet solely on red and won eighteen times with it. But, but that was just luck.’

   Zeppeli continued to surge ahead. He remained in Pocoloco’s wake. It infuriated him to no end. His eyes scanned the horizon for a slip-up; an innocuous moment or anything that he could turn into an opportunity to further himself. So far, it was a pretty airtight race.

   ‘Some kind of Pokemon has to be protecting this guy… I just gotta find it and battle it.Then, I can change the flow of luck. And he can screw himself over.’ Zeppeli decided, resolute.

   ATLiens stowed itself away in Pocoloco’s lap. It was quite the free spirit. It half hugged onto his front.

   ‘Hey Pocoloco.’ it cooed, almost whined.

   Pocoloco kept his eyes in front of him. ‘Yeah?’

   ‘I will protect you from everything there is. Alright! So let’s keep going ahead, do whatever you like: I will protect you. Keep rushing forward. You’ve got me and luck on your side so there ain’t nothin’ to fear.’ ATLiens declared. It pawed at Pocoloco with affectionate eyes.

   Pocoloco charged forward with newfound tenacity. His Tauros snuffled and grunted. There was a slight pick-up on acceleration but it was mostly performative. It was obvious that he was teetering on the edge of that maximum speed stat. Either way, it annoyed Zeppeli to hell and back. He was left with dust in his hair and eyes.

   ‘My mount has been a sprinter since birth. Even if I can’t do anything, I can’t stand staring at his ass. Let’s go!’ Zeppeli’s growl turned to a roar.

   His Mudsdale leaped forward. Its clunky hooves outstretched; front and back. Ferocity flared in its mud-brown eyes. It was beyond angered. It surged forward and out-raced Tauros. In a beautiful instant, Zeppeli overtook Pocoloco.

   Pocoloco stared. Disbelief caused his eyes to pop and mouth to gape. The announcer continued to yell out her commentary.

   ‘He’s going! He’s overtaken Pocoloco! Gyro Zeppeli had picked up the pace yet again; surprising everyone! He’s really moving; he’s really out-accelerating a Tauros on a Mudsdale - a Pokemon known as a gentle giant!’

   Maria became flustered as she got her facts straight in her head.

   ‘But isn’t this a little too soon? Isn’t this a little rash; after all, there’s still more than fifteen hundred metres; that’s yonks away! And the straight way is coming up!’ Maria’s panic was accentuated by the wind.

   Tauros and Mudsdale raced, neck and neck, as their path curved. Zeppeli remained out front. He was brash and confident as Pocoloco did his best to catch up and overcome the initial shock of being overtaken. But with each passing second, the distance between them widened.

   They overcame the final curve of the land. Before them, was a wide road. It was dusty and grassy. At the end of that road was a church. By the sides of the road was people. More people than the eye could fully comprehend. They silhouetted each other and made so much noise.They waved flags and banners; chanted and stomped their feet. Their excitement reverberated in the air. It charged the mount Pokemon with adrenaline; a final hooray with the end so close but so far at the same time. To the west, the outskirts of Driftveil City could be glimpsed. Mere catches of roofs and buildings; easily overlooked, truth be told.

   As the train rounded in, from behind the innumerable crowd of people, Mr Steel couldn’t believe his eyes. This was a wonder beyond all wonders. His voice was weak. He was on the verge of tearing up, in all honesty.

   ‘Th-There’s so many people. It’s unprecedented.’ he uttered. He was completely awed. Shocked to the old bone. ‘I had no idea.’

  Zeppeli lightened up as he basked in the applause; in the atmosphere. He lifted his head slightly from the back of his Mudsdale’s neck. His heart skipped a beat. A weak smiled turned to an utter lust for the attention.

   As he charged forward, mud and ground broke beneath Mudsdale’s hooves. Behind them, Pocoloco clattered behind them. He was in a desperate, last-minute scramble to change the positions once more. Anything to get back to that ever desirable first place.

   Overhead, the hot air balloons drifted alongside clouds. The sky was gorgeous. The sunshine borderline celebratory as the sun graced the race with its bright jubilance. That oceanic gust began to die down. It no longer shook Maria’s voice.

   ‘Wow! There are so many people at the finish line! There’s the goal: the abandoned church! There’s a giant crowd of spectators both sides of the road! It’s really heating up! There’s got to be at least ten thousand people here- wait, no! At least twenty thousand people here; that’s way more than who was in attendance at the opening ceremony! This is impossible; mind-boggling! There’s no way you can count how many people are actually here!’ Maria cried out.

   The train came to a halt. It gave a final salute to the journey: a high-pitched whistle and a great plume of white-grey smoke.

   ‘D-Did someone call them here?’ Mr Steel asked a quiet voice. He was sweating bullets. ‘Un-Unbelievable… even I…’

   ‘He will be a hero. The winner of this race - the one who becomes Champion - will become a world-renowned hero; there’s no doubt about it!’ Lucy gasped; her icy blue eyes widening at the gravity of the situation beyond just the current attendance and whatnot.

   ‘The possibilities are endless! This is what the Steel Ball Run is all about!’ Maria yelled.

   A herd of mounts cleared the final curve. Soon, they were welcomed warmly into the final stretch. In the thick of it, towards the top though, was Johnny. His expression, thus far, had been stern and tough. However, as he approached the finishing line, such an expression softened.

   He ran his hand down his Zebstrika’s neck. Its hair was coarse and rife with static but he didn’t mind. He sort of liked the texture on his fingertips. His Zebstrika remained unfazed by his affection. It stared forward and kept pace.

   ‘You’ve run well, old girl...’ he praised it. Fondness seeped into his voice; he could help it. ‘You’ve gained a lot of experience from this race. Riding on the rough ground, going across that forest, and rushing downhill with no errors. I’m proud of you.  And despite how much you’ve been sweating.’

   ‘Strika!’ his Zebstrika guffawed.

   ‘You’re breathing is also in good spirits. We’re only forty-to-fifty lengths away. But he, he dashed ahead too early! He’ll be tired so let’s surprise him… that Gyro Zeppeli!’ Johnny enthused.

   He didn’t know why but he liked the sound of hearing him say that eccentric stranger’s name out loud. He liked the way it danced across his tongue. That strange, foreign name.

   ‘You can keep going! Your legs are in perfect shape!’ Johnny declared.

   Ahead of him, an empty space stretched onwards. At the end of it, was two figures: Gyro Zeppeli and Pocoloco. That space was tantalizing. Perfect for a last minute dash. Johnny and his Zebstrika surged forward but a chilling feeling crept up his spine as he surged onwards. There was a familiar, cold glare piercing the nape of his neck.

   Johnny hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, out of nowhere, came a Sawsbuck and its rider. A Sawsbuck with a distinctive mark upon its forehead; a mark in the shape of a five-pointed star. Upon that Sawsbuck’s back was none other than Diego Brando.

   Diego had returned. And with a vengeance.

   He was boxed in by other riders, fortunately, and Johnny was ahead of the pack. Nevertheless, he was terrified. There was nothing scarier than an enraged Diego. Though he looked calm, a stony face, there was no way in hell that he didn’t have a plan.

   His Sawsbuck charged valiantly past the other mounts; even past the Rapidash. It simply charged onwards. It shared the same, calculating calm as its Trainer.

   ‘Hang on, what’s this? How didn’t I notice before?’ Maria questioned herself. ‘It’s shocking indeed! Pulling ahead in the tailing group… he’s making his way through! It’s simply unbelievable; coming from way behind is Diego “Dio” Brando!’

   Johnny growled. He charged out in front, as best as he could, but already Diego was behind him. Diego overtook the last person, the last length, between him and Johnny. His speed was borderline incomprehensible. His Sawsbuck looked elegant despite the strain it was no doubt going through to overtake its competitors.

   ‘DIO!’ Maria screamed. ‘Pushed behind everyone because of the destruction of the bridge and he’s just caught up! How in the world did he gain all that ground he lost?’

   Diego sped up again. He barged up to johnny. He put pressure on him. He was basically breathing down Johnny’s neck. He and Sawsbuck glared forward. Johnny risked a glance at them both; just enough to assess the situation, a brief scope of it. It wasn’t looking good.

   ‘Again, he passes by! Dio is catching up! He’s breaking through!’ Maria commentated. Her excitement bubbled and fizzed.

   Johnny realised something; This guy… he’s using that technique.

   ‘He came forward with an air pressure shield.’ Johnny growled.

   It was a riding technique in which fatigue could be avoided but it was a highly dangerous manoeuvre. For it means to ride directly behind the leading mount, where the wind is completely blocked and since it is blocked, the mount is no longer affected from any air pressure it would have otherwise been exposed to. The fact Diego had pulled it off without error and for a such a long distance - from the bridge to here - truly sang of his amazing skill.

   Johnny frowned. Did this mean that Diego also plans to use his mount as a shield?

   ‘Slow Dancer, use Quick Attack: no target, just burst forward.’ Johnny instructed; his voice was soft and lost beneath the pounding hooves and other external noises.

   His Zebstrika whinnied. It burst forward. Johnny was comforted by confidence as Zebstrika zig-zagged forward and away from Diego. Diego was surprised by the sudden use of a move. Zebstrika left a silvery sort of blur as it sped up unbelievably. Diego could do nothing but watch as Johnny’s Zebstrika continued outwards…

   And into the distance, and into third place.

   ‘The trailing group is finally arriving!’ Maria announced. ‘Ooh! They’re speeding up! They’re no longer holding their Pokemon back; it’s truly an all-out battle - is that a Quick Attack I just saw? From Gyro Zeppeli down to the bottom of the range, there’s an entire river of riders on the move!’

   However, Zeppeli refused to get big-headed from the circumstance as circumstance could change at any second. And he firmly believed that with the checkpoint so close, anyone would be willing to do anything. This was the point in which logic was thrown out the window. He glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes, resolute eyes, with Pocoloco. And, just like he thought, Pocoloco lunged.

   ‘And Pocoloco has just challenged Zeppeli!’ Maria commentated.

   Zeppeli shrugged it off. ‘Doesn’t change a thing. This is what I’ve been expecting since the very beginning of the race!’

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli is twisting around to look at Pocoloco - as though gauging the distance between the two of them! With only a thousand metres to the finishing line; it’s as though he’s sizing up the distance between himself and the group! Is he anxious or does he think he can afford this?’ Maria read the situation from her position in the sky.

   The wind picked up. It had a scathing bite to it this time.

   ‘What furious momentum! The shouts from the crowd grow ever stronger; we can’t even hear the sound of the arriving train! Cutting through the oceanic wind Santana, the flood of riders drive towards the end goal!’ Maria yelled. There was a grin in her voice.

   The distance between Johnny and Diego suddenly closed. Diego had caught up. His Sawsbuck rammed against Johnny and his mount but his Zebstrika remained strong. Johnny cursed Diego’s name; glared him down as he tried to free himself from the sparking conflict between them.

   But every time he tried to outrun Diego, he kept coming back and exploiting the fact that Zebstrika could be used as a windshield. It was almost useless. Diego was too persistent. And with that wind, Johnny was certain that Diego planned to ride it out on Zebstrika’s tail until the very end when he could freely burst forward at the last possible metre of the race; or just before.

   Johnny gritted his teeth. ‘There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let Diego win!’ he yelled. ‘Gyro should already be at his limit! And if anyone is going to beat Gyro Zeppeli…’

   Johnny continued to surge forward. His declaration only caught on Diego’s ears but his determination shone like a star.

   ‘What?’ Diego gawked; he grimaced. ‘His mount is… sinking?’

   It’s true. Zebstrika was sinking into the ground. Its hooves were half buried. Already, Johnny had lost some height on Diego who now stood prouder next to him; against him. Zebstrika skidded along but then bounced back at the last possible moment; amid the pondering.

   ‘It’s going to be me: Johnny Joestar!’ Johnny declared; top of his lungs and his heart raced uncontrollably.

   His Zebstrika’s hind legs bucked up. They scraped through the ground and dislodged rocks. Diego shielded his face but it was all he could do in the onslaught as it had caught him off guard. From a cut beneath his eye, he bled. Johnny used to the confusion to get away. His Zebstrika freely charged forward; unhindered by the manoeuvre.

   Diego seethed. Johnny’s true colours, or at the very least his past, he shone in that moment. It was obvious that he had been a professional jockey once with such an unconventional tactic like that; pulled off effortlessly and at a moment’s notice. It left Diego infuriated. He had no idea someone like that had competed outside the traditional Kalosian racing circuit.

   Between the stray rocks and exhaustion, disaster began to brew further down the pack. Mounts refused to go forward whilst others spiralled out of control. Some mounts were flipped and others collapsed where they had once run. All of these individual disasters became more as they combined. A pile-up was bound to occur within seconds of it all.

   ‘All of the mounts are exhausted!’ Maria yelled; some sympathy dripped into her voice. ‘Oh no! Some are collapsing; others are on the verge, leaning. They’ve all run fourteen thousand metres, non-stop! Their level of concentration was at max for the full of this race! All of the Pokemon on this field are already at their limits; some are refusing to press onwards! The goal is gain ground from here on out!’

   Zeppeli’s Mudsdale was drenched with sweat. It practically blew out steam from its nostrils but nevertheless, it charged onwards. Too stubborn for defeat, apparently. Pocoloco was hot on Zeppeli’s heels; his Tauros was a little better for wear thanks to that time it had spent recuperating on the back of that dead Bouffalant. But even then, that energy it had regained would amount to little at this very last stretch in stage one.

   The top four competitors were fairly streamlined. There was an ever decreasing distance between them all; no matter how hard they tried to avoid it. At the back of this line, Diego observed. As much as he hated it, he would acknowledge skill meant little in this final part of the race. From here on out, it would be based on leg power.

   However, in second position, Pocoloco happened upon a different strategy. Or at least, he’s assuming it’s a strategy to maximise his luck.

   ATLiens clambered onto his back. ‘Hey, Pocoloco, go left?’ it advised.

   ‘Huh? But why?’ he asked.

   ‘Just go left already! Go around to the left of him.’ ATLiens insisted.

   ‘O-Okay but Hey Ya is at is limits too.’ Pocoloco pointed out but upon remembering his luck, he soon changed his tune. ‘But, I’m a lucky guy, right? I’m promised that, right? So, I can do anything I want!’

   ‘That’s right, Pocoloco! Say “Yo, yo, yo” - just like that!’ ATLiens said.

   Tauros sped out to the left. Pocoloco lifted his head. He looked to be in a state of disbelief and exhaustion but nevertheless, he did as his mysterious partner Pokemon had advised. As he began to overtake Zeppeli, he began to whoop and holler.

   ‘Yo! Yo! Yo!’ Pocoloco shouted; almost in rhythm to the beat of his Tauros’ hooves.

   Zeppeli glared, bewildered to the noise, and turned his head. His eyes widened as he watched Pocoloco attempt to overtake him. But, to his right, he was ignorant of a big shake-up to the leaderboards.

   ‘And here’s Sandman coming down the cliffs! And he rejoins as the leader of the group!’ Maria yelled.

   From the right, it was truly unbelievable, Sandman skidded down the last of the rocks and it was as if he had appeared from thin air. Hot on his feet, he sped further down the last stretch of stage one. He was determined as all hell.

   ‘With his muscles nearly exploding, Sandman is back! He’s ahead of Gyro Zeppeli and taken the mantle of first position in this unpredictable race! He’s about eight lengths ahead! And he’s successfully rejoined whilst going for the goal! He’s going at least forty kilometres per hour! Is this man really running? But there are no more short-cuts! Sandman! Can he hold his own up against all these faster-than-humans mount Pokemon until the goal? Can he pull away?’ Maria commentated.

   Sandman, head down, charged forward. It was nigh reckless. His skin glistened with sweat and a possible sunburn. He was like a train: he charged forward, huffing and puffing, without question.

   Meanwhile, shoved to fifth place, Diego decided to make his next move.

   ‘And now Dio’s out! Dio has jumped out now! There’s about three hundred metres ‘til the goal! Dio’s at such an amazing race!’ Maria yelled.

   There really was no predicting this race.

   Diego’s Sawsbuck powerfully surged forward. Diego was silent but his determination was like a deafening roar. Quickly, it lined up closely with Johnny’s Zebstrika. Sawsbuck’s nose practically touching Zebstrika’s spiked tail as whipped towards Diego’s space. The mounts were, essentially, running parallel to each other but there was a slight, diagonal shift to their positions.

   ‘And there’s another mount lined up with Dio’s Sawsbuck! No, wait! It’s pulled ahead of Dio!’ Maria announced.

   Johnny focused his energy and continued on. He drifted away from Diego and revealed him all to all the air pressure and wind present. No longer could he get away with that strategy; at least for now, if he didn’t try anything strange.

   ‘But there’s no saddlecloth! It’s an anonymous rider out there! They’re attacking Gyro Zeppeli from seven lengths away… now only five lengths! Gyro Zeppeli is not losing any of his pace whilst chasing Sandman! But the trailers are burning with a truly competitive spirit! And Pocoloco is trying to pass from the left!’ Maria announced.

   Zeppeli had his head down and was ignoring the strange competitors around him. Pocoloco had veered out to the left and was using it as an opportunity to overtake Zeppeli. ATLiens, for now, had slunk back into its PokeBall, for now.

   ‘Four riders are about to attack the leading Sandman! Gyro Zeppeli is about three lengths away from him!’ Maria commentated.

   Sandman, furious as the devil, continued to charge on the best he could upon his two legs. Behind him, he had his land-based Pokemon, Simipour and Mienshao, guard him against any assault on foot. Overhead, his Flygon, Cofagrigus, and Sigilyph flew above him and watched over, benevolent but ultimately uninvolved until necessary.

    The other top Trainers raced behind the miniature blockade. Each burned with their own, competitive spirit. They each lusted for victory and dreamed for the win. They all waited for their chance to strike. That chance was ever encroaching. Their determination burst to life like a ravaging inferno; from the sidelines, they were quite the terrifying force to watch.

   ‘The four mounted Trainers are all lined up on Sandman’s tail!’

   And Sandman could feel it all. Their glares, rife with their own goals and determinations, pierced Sandman. It pierced him as real as an arrowhead would. He gritted his teeth and continued forward. Yet, his thoughts remained somewhere far beyond this race; to the desert, he had once called home. He thought of his sister and her smile. He had no homeland to return which was why he could continue forth. For the spirits of his ancestors and the lives of his own alive today, he would run. He would continue forth. The commentator’s voice echoed in his head.

   ‘All lined up! All lined up! They’re all lined up!’

   Out of fear for their own health, his Simipour and Mienshao were now racing by his side. They glanced at him, a touch apologetic because they couldn’t protect him from here, but he didn’t blame them. The mounts, tall and heavy, loomed over Sandman. From beneath those powerful creatures, from right before their hooves, Sandman launched himself.

   ‘Please give me your strength and courage!’ he yelled out to his ancestors’ spirits in the hopes they were watching this wayward son of theirs.

   His voice was strong and resounded past the thundering hooves. A final burst of energy replenished Sandman as he charged forward as fast as any Rapidash. Despite it all, he continued onwards. He continued past his heavy body and fatigue. He dashed forward despite the exhaustion. He made great distance too; despite the disadvantage.

   ‘All the mounts are lined up side by side! And Sandman speeds up once again! And now Dio’s coming out! Wait, Gyro is slightly ahead! There’s one hundred metres left! Who will end up in first place? It’s too close to tell at this point!’ Maria shouted.

   The top five competitors, streaked with sweat and some with blood, continued onwards. It was beyond valiant. Their actions spoke volumes of their gallant effort and of their dreams.

   ‘It’s become a fierce battlefield!’ Maria shrieked.

   ATLiens popped out of its PokeBall discretely. It wound around Pocoloco once more. Pocoloco had already grown far too used to its over-affectionate actions. He rode, unaffected, by ATLiens’ appearance. Then, it began to continue whispering advice into his ear.

   ‘Okay Pocoloco,’ it began as it scanned their surroundings, ‘don’t hold back any! You’re good! This is good: you’ll be the winner! Just ride up there; there’s a dead tree buried in the ground - now go straight at it and leave the rest to me!’

   Pocoloco obeyed the advice. He had Tauros charge straight at it. ATLiens snickered and the orbs on its palms began to light up. The tree shifted, rose closer to the top of the ground where it was slightly more visible than before.     Tauros bounded it up to it and bounced off of it. A peculiar, pink-purple light encased Tauros and Pocoloco. It furthered their jump and Pocoloco landed in first place.

   ‘What’s this…? Pocoloco jumped?’ Maria sounded gobsmacked.

   ATLiens disappeared into its PokeBall again. It was quite pleased by its display of Psychic.

   Once again, Pocoloco had stunned the entire race. Disbelief and anger rippled through the faces of johnny, Diego, and Zeppeli. The spectators went wild. They were ravenous for this sort of heart-pounding unpredictability.

   ‘It’s a dead tree! He ran into the dead tree and used it as a sort of springboard for his Tauros!’ Maria explained, astounded.

   Even Pocoloco was surprised by his success. ATLiens was the best thing to have happened to him. He would never have thought of doing that because it wasn’t covered by the fortune teller lady’s prediction. He continued to surge on ahead.

   ‘And now he’s ahead of the rest! He slipped out! Wait, uh, what?’ Maria messed up her announcements as she watched the next breakneck-paced development of the race in utter confusion.

   Pocoloco had surged out ahead of Sandman. Sandman had dipped diagonally so he wouldn’t get landed on by Tauros. But now, out of seeming nowhere and all impossibility and exhaustion, Gyro Zeppeli had surged forward. It was unbelievable.

   His mount still had enough energy to overtake Pocoloco this late in the race. It had burst forth, tongue lolling outside its mouth. It continued forward. Zeppeli was utterly ruthless.

   Pocoloco gawked. He couldn’t believe it. His eyebrows arched upwards as he watched Zeppeli’s Mudsdale’s tail wag in front of him.

   ‘No, wait, that’s wrong: it’s not Pocoloco who had slipped out in front!’ Maria yelled.

   No matter how Pocoloco rationalised it, it made no sense. He had supreme luck on his side. He had ATLiens on his side. There was no way Zeppeli had the leg power to have pulled off such a feat in this part of the race. Zeppeli’s been on his tail close as anything since the downhill stint. Not to mention, he was flogging it hard just a moment again. It was impossible.

   Sandman and his Pokemon were being boxed in by the riders. Pocoloco was slowly drifting behind. His own hubris clouding his current judgements so he was slipping back. The trailing pack of the top riders quickly grew ever more tightly crowded. Too many people and Pokemon in the one area.

   Zeppeli twisted around. A Zebstrika caught his eye and Johnny leaned out. He met Zeppeli’s eyes. Johnny was awed at how close and far he was from this eccentric stranger. He was flashed a goofy, golden grin.

   ‘I’m impressed, Johnny Joestar.’ Zeppeli addressed him. ‘I’m amazed.’

   Johnny swallowed. His stomach knotted. It was even better, the other way around: hearing Zeppeli say his name.

   ‘You did well to catch up on me. By the way, kid… you ever been on a ship? I have, once. Did you know the more headwinds that a sailing vessel gets in its sails, the faster it will go? And this headwind, Santana, was there to help my Mudsdale from the very start.’ he bragged.

   His cloak curled back. He moved his hand. Johnny looked carefully at this form and he could see it. He could see the evocation of a sailing ship in the silhouette of Zeppeli and his mouth. More importantly, Johnny could see that he had two his stranger, green PokeBalls anchored at the bottom of his cloak. They spun.

   ‘This guy… what’s he talking about?’ Pocoloco asked.

   Sandman and Diego, meanwhile, had a visceral reaction to Zeppeli’s little speech to Johnny. Their fury over his ingenuity enraged them both to the point of disbelief.

   ‘And he’s passing right through! He’s passing right through! He’s closed in on the goal!’ screamed Maria.

   Zeppeli lifted himself from his mount. He raised his arm, a closed fist, through the air. He bathed in adoration. He became swollen with victory and glory. The crowd welcomed with cheery ordinance beyond compare. Zeppeli effortlessly crossed the finish line. He grinned that golden grin of his. He breathed heavily and his Mudsdale came to an ambling halt further down, past that beautiful finishing line.

   ‘GYRO ZEPPELI IS IN FIRST!’ Maria’s voice boomed through the crowd, as amplified by both her Noibat and Loudred. ‘It’s a sweeping win with a five-length lead! What a strong showing from the start! And the crown king of the First Stage is now Gyro Zeppeli! He’ll be a hot favourite for the position of Champion - if he can collect those badges, of course! Gyro Zeppeli with a running time of eighteen minutes and seven seconds!’


	13. VS DISQUALIFICATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Stage comes to a dramatic conclusion. Johnny and Gyro come to a quieter conclusion about their interest in each other.

   Maria’s voice continued to ring out against the spectator's celebration. She continued with her excited announcements.

   ‘For this win, Gyro Zeppeli will receive one hundred thousand PokeYen! As well as one hundred points, an extra visit to the medical team, and the ability to shave a loss off and re-challenge a Leader for a badge; should someone not swoop in before him!’

   Zeppeli cheered and performed like a jester before the crowd. He was thriving vibrantly in the attention. His Mudsdale continued down its victory path: tired as anything but still ambling onward.

   ‘The winner of Stage One is Gyro Zeppeli!’ Maria screamed.

   The only thing more exciting than Zeppeli’s win was those on his tail. The other top Trainers, who had come so close but ultimately never made it, crossed the finish line. Their positions were blink and you miss it. It was that close. There was a pause as they crossed and then Maria announced how they had come.

   ‘In second, the one and only fast runner Sandman! In third, the careless black comet Pocoloco! W-Wait, Diego Brando?’

   The developments were dizzyingly fast. Even from her position on high, Maria was having trouble telling who had placed what.

   ‘The judges are discussing it! And so, because of recent developments, there will be a re-shuffle of placements!’ Maria was tripping on her words as she received information. ‘Please wait a little whilst we verify the evidence we caught on camera. We’re going to use the latest technology to determine the true winner of this race. The others approach the goal…’

   The other top Trainers and their mounts continued to race until the very end of the road. They crossed beneath the mahogany archway of the church. They passed through and by the end of it, Johnny could have died. He was tired and drained. He had no idea how Zeppeli could celebrate; he was probably faring worse than all of them.

   ‘The Steel Ball Run is using a point system to decide how the non-battling component of this course to decide top scorers. First place is awarded one hundred points. Second gets fifty. Third get forty, and so on. Points are awarded until the twenty-first racer. The goal of the entire race race is, of course, Humilau City. On the way are nine checkpoints.

   ‘At eight of these checkpoints, so from checkpoints here onwards, there will be sanctioned Trainers to battle. These eight Trainers will gift the person who bests them in battle first, a badge. The person who has collected the most of these badges, will be given the opportunity to battle acting Champion, President Valentine. In the event, we have a draw, the two Trainers with four badges each will battle: winner takes all style. That person - should they also beat President Valentine - will become Unova’s first Champion.’ Maria explained, to fill in time and to inform those who either hadn’t heard or hadn’t read the SBR Handbook.

   The abandoned church had become the grounds for the party of the century. People were celebrating left, right, and centre for they had just witnessed the first stage of Unova’s most historic race. The winner’s circle, Johnny supposed they were, were being treated to a private function. Meals and drinks were on the house.

   Behind him, Pocoloco was fretting about something. Johnny didn’t quite get it.

   ‘Why? Why? I’m supposed to be the guy with one in five hundred million luck! Why did I lose to that guy? This just isn’t right!’ Pocoloco bemoaned himself; haywire as a sketchy music box.

   Diego was fuming. He annoyed by Pocoloco’s whining about luck but he was mostly infuriated by his own shortcomings. He couldn’t believe had been shown-up by two nobodies and a runner. He far outclassed them all and yet, it was not he who had claimed this victory.

   ‘I, Dio…’ he grumbled into his balled hand, through gritted teeth, ‘so I wasn’t first. I’m not first. Fuck. That guy from the country…’

   He resolved to show them all up in the battle component of this race.

   Sandman was dragging himself to the buffet. He was like a dead man who walked. The clerk from the office, the one which had attempted to dissuade him from joining the race, stood around the table. He called out to Sandman whilst stuffing his face silly.

   ‘Ah, help yourself to the water, man! How about some food? You want some?’

   Sandman ignored him. The clerk frowned. Was this really the guy from earlier?

   ‘The food and drinks here are for the participants of the race, you know.’ the clerk informed him.

   Sandman panted. ‘I’ll take…’ His voice trailed off. He was a wet, hot mess.

  The clerk offered a plate of thickly sliced, buttered up Miltank steak and a mug. Sandman grabbed the huge water container behind the clerk and began to chug. He also grabbed the rest of the meat on a bone and took a bite of it. Already, he felt better.

   Meanwhile, Mr Steel was having the time of his life schmoozing and socializing with the guests who had joined him on the train as well as with the spectators from the crowd. He had Lucy by his side and she was making polite conversation also.

   ‘Okay, all you sponsors, it’s the end of the first stage so I’ve prepared some exquisite and expensive Kalosian champagne for us all. Today’s race ends here. We’ll camp tonight, the second stage begins tomorrow at ten a.m.’ Mr Steel prattled to whoever would listen.

   From behind, a seedy man with a spindly moustache approached. He whispered something in Mr Steel’s ear; hand clamped over his shoulder. Mr Steel was not alarmed but he did become quite stern. His whole persona altered.

   ‘Mr Steel…’ this man whispered. ‘I have received information on Zeppeli’s background.’

   Mr Steel’s breath hitched in his throat. He could come up with a thousand stories for this man but there was no point. There was only one truth, after all.

   ‘Immigration had his details. He departed from Cyllage City, Kalos in May and arrived in Unova on May twenty-second.’

   ‘What, he’s a foreigner? In mock spirit of the immigration, Kalosians did to Unova, any can participate in this race. Even if they’re not a citizen, it’s not against the rules but it’d be bad press if such a person ended up Champion; of course, they’d also win citizenship here with it… But what does that make Gyro Zeppeli if he ain’t a cowboy or gunman?’

   ‘He’s far from either of those things. His ship was neither immigrant ship nor a cargo ship. Zeppeli entered this region on a ship belonging to some Kalosian royal family!’

   ‘Royalty?! So what does that mean?’

   ‘More like a government VIP or just a wealthy person…’

   ‘His racing application was blank. If he a foreigner, here legally and is as valid as any born Unova for the title of Champion, is hiding his background; why don’t we just ask him? Then again, if he left it blank, it’s likely he won’t explain in person either.

   ‘The second stage is the long distance twelve hundred kilometre portion of the race. From the next stage on, we will begin allowing bets to be placed on who will come first in the race component and who will earn the most badges. At the second stage, I’ve been assured there will be a sanctioned Trainer… we’ll allow bets on if that sanctioned Trainer will win or lose the first battle they are engaged in. Unfortunately, I don’t know who that Trainer is… Much like we still don’t know who Gyro Zeppeli is. Find out more about him, now!’ Mr Steel instructed.

   It felt like it had been an eternity since the speakers had made noises but now they were making plenty. It would appear that Maria was ready with the judges’ deliberation. Her speaker system crackled then there was a pause. People lifted up their heads and waited with much anticipation for Maria’s announcement.

   ‘Thank you for waiting folks but the results are in! And I will announce them!’ Maria yelled.

  Maria’s voice was met with a roar of cheer.

   ‘By deliberation, Gyro Zeppeli was in first place but,’ Maria’s voice turned sharp, ‘but he will incur a penalty. Because his Krookodile, nicknamed “Mean Streak”, used “Rock Smash” recklessly, Sandman’s race was interfered with. Said interference, though unintentional, was decided to be unlawful by the judges. Therefore, he is unable to claim first place.’

   Pocoloco and Diego’s faces lit up with hope. Johnny was shocked by the announcement but he couldn’t exactly call it unfair. It also made him thank his lucky stars that no one had noticed his deliberate rock throwing at Diego during that last point in the race.

   ‘As reported by one of the judges in one of the other hot air balloons that had been following the race, Gyro Zeppeli interrupted the race with his unlawful “Rock Smash”. It occurred at the thirteen thousand metre mark. Around the end of the downhill section of the race. So, Gyro Zeppeli has been lowered twenty places in the leaderboards as a penalty. And so, second place will be raised to first.’

   Johnny glanced at Gyro. It was hard to tell from a distance, but he was taking the news quite well. He was standing statue stiff, no doubt seething, but at least he wasn’t making a scene. He had been in the middle of grooming in Mudsdale.

   Sandman smirked into his mug and took another bite of the food he had been given. He was chuffed by the news. He raised his head, half curious though. He knew better than to get his hopes up but he had every right to be confident.

   ‘Rising in the ranks comes… Sandman! That’s the decision! Sandman is the winner of the first stage!’

   His smirk turned to a smile. There was thunderous applause for him. But unlike Zeppeli, he wasn’t a showboat. He’d take this win graciously, secretly.

   ‘He was slowed down at the bridge however since he is the prince of racing and battling in Kalos, he closed the gap before the finish line - as expected! Second will be Dio: Diego Brando! Third will be Pocoloco!’

   There was cheer and praise for both Diego and Pocoloco.

   Pocoloco whooped. ‘I did it! I beat someone like Gyro! Woohoo!’

   ‘Your attention, please… Mountain Tim will place fourth. Our favourite cowboy somehow managed to get his Tauros’ nose across the line at the last possible moment! For further details on the leaderboards, we will post the details soon on an announcement board. Thank you for attention. You’ve been a great audience, signing out is… Maria!’

   That composure Johnny had seen earlier in Gyro shifted. He clenched his fist and snarled. His whole body trembled with anger. Even from afar, Johnny could tell a bad decision - one born of consuming rage - was about to take place. However, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t dismount his Zebstrika because it’d be useless crawling towards Zeppeli to stop him. And, given how dark he was in this rage, he was beyond being snapped out of it with words. So, Johnny could only watch.

   Mr Steel was being flanked by two young ladies; one an adolescent, the other an adult.  One was his wife and the other was Maria, the announcer lady.

   Maria guzzled from her cup. ‘Ah, how do ya think I went, Mr Steel? Thanks for hiring me again. You’ll really help jumpstart my career as an entertainer, thanks for taking on an unknown voice and talent like me.’

   ‘Nonsense, Miss Maria. You sell yourself short.’ Mr Steel said.

   Zeppeli stomped over to where Mr Steel was socialising. Zeppeli’s appearance behind the table was enough to cause strife. Bodyguards stepped in front of Mr Steel. Mr Steel stepped in front of his darling child bride to protect her.

   Zeppeli tensely placed a PokeBall on the table. The champagne bottles on the table became like barbed wire; the only thing separating him from them. Mr Steel relaxed. His bodyguards stepped off. For now, Zeppeli meant no harm. His fingers caged the PokeBall he had set down. Beneath his palm, behind his fingers, the PokeBall was set in motion. It began to spin.

   Zeppeli bared his teeth. His eyes glinted in the shadows beneath his hat and hair. Though he seethed and clearly had a lot to say, he bit it all back. He did not speak until spoken to. Mr Steel turned to him, cocked his head.

   ‘Mr Zeppeli… do you have something you would like to say? Something to complain about, perhaps?’

   ‘I got nothin’ really. I won’t talk to you anymore. That was the past. We can’t do anything but look forward to tomorrow. I’m here to make myself feel better, that’s all. Go enjoy yer champagne.’

   Zeppeli ripped his PokeBall from the tablecloth. Johnny sighed. Perhaps he had been wrong about Zeppeli; maybe he had more self-control than his clearly restrained, but bursting at the seams, anger would let on. Either that or something worse than johnny could imagine was about to happen. Zeppeli stormed off.

   ‘Um, weren’t you supposed to ask him something… Mr Steel?’ the man from earlier whispered to Mr Steel.

   Mr Steel panicked; reached his hand across the table, back to Zeppeli.

   ‘W-Wait.’ he called out but it was useless.

   Zeppeli ignored him.

   Mr Steel’s hand was directly above one of the champagne bottles that spiked the table. The cork suddenly popped off. Utterly unprompted. The cork missed Mr Steel’s nose. His eyes widened. Between his fingers, the fizzy stream of the champagne shot upwards. It was like a waterspout.

   The other champagne bottles began to quiver and tremble. They bounced and reverberated. Their corks were shot like bullets every which way. People screamed and protected themselves. Everyone looked a tad silly, cowering in fear from the champagne bottles which were behaving as though possessed.

   A cork was launched towards Johnny. It was stray fire. The rest of the bottles had popped off towards the crowd on the other side of the table. Johnny wasn’t scared of it. He easily caught it in his hand. It didn’t even hurt to catch it.

   There was one champagne bottle left. It seemed untouched by the demon that was possessing the rest of them. The man with a spindly moustache reached out for it. Then, the champagne bottle launched its cork. He laughed as it missed his head. He cautiously picked up the now still bottle. He poured it out into a glass for himself. He laughed nervously.

   ‘Haha, didn’t spill.’ he commented.

   The corks which had been launched had not been launched with the intent to hit any people. Instead, they had all barreled into the tank that stood, without notice, behind all the people; on a stand above them all. The corks with insane force puncture the tank and from these holes came great waves of water. Mr Steel and company were drenched.

   ‘I feel a little better now. Hey, you, you wanna come with me? To the next stage? Johnny Joestar…?’

   Zeppeli’s voice, a tad musical but mostly strong, pierced Johnny’s thoughts. He turned his head. He couldn’t help but get all his hopes up with the offer. He hoped that he didn’t look like a child on Christmas though; that’d just be a tad embarrassing but goodness gracious… There was something about the way Zeppeli said his name, it was kind of intoxicating.

   Johnny cocked a casual smile. He gripped tighter onto that cork in his hand.

   ‘Of course.’ he replied, as cool and strong as he could muster. He struck half a pose to show off his arm muscles. ‘I’ll show you what my team and I can do.’

   ‘That’s good. Lesson two will be to work those muscles of yours. We’re gonna have to completely change how you throw out your Pokeballs; of course, I haven’t seen you do it but I’ll assume you do it like most folks.’ Zeppeli said.

    Zeppeli grabbed his right arm with his left hand. He grunted as he twisted it around but he didn’t seem to be in much pain; if any.

   ‘You ready? For example, if I grab your wrist like this… holding the wrist tightly like this… the muscle will automatically bend. It just knows to do that. The flesh instinctively protects the body by wounding the muscle. And that’s nature for you.’ Zeppeli began to explain.

   Johnny was a tad confused as to how this would correlate to throwing PokeBalls but he listened intently. He watched as Zeppeli’s arm twitched slightly and made mental notes of the anatomy of it.

   Zeppeli let himself go and exhaled softly. He unclipped a PokeBall from one of his straps. Johnny figured this would be the part which makes sense. He balanced the PokeBall on his forearm. As it spun, the skin around it became ringed; like concentric circles. It wasn’t entirely unlike a ripple. The flesh was more solid than liquid, after all.

   ‘However, these steel PokeBalls, they won’t let you do that. Only on the skin. Control the skin! If the skin is under unusual conditions, the muscles won’t act upon it. Apply that to your Pokemon, and already they get a buff across all their stats since it’s something like a massage. Next up, would be the delivery: swinging outwards rather over or under arm or however you may do it.’ Zeppeli explained. ‘Hang on, you’ve still got that cork, don’t you. Why don’t you give it a try using that? Just the first bit. If your not scared of course.’

   Johnny gingerly revealed in his hand. The cork on his palm was erratic at first but it did begin moving. It was as though he were moving its psychically, with his mind, but that wasn’t the case. He was definitely manipulating it through touch. However, it was difficult to control. He was nowhere near as masterful as Zeppeli.

   The cork jerked upwards and hit Johnny’s Zebstrika’s shoulder. His Zebstrika seemed unfazed but it blinked, shook its head, and seemed to have one stat randomly raised. The cork manipulated the flesh and Zebstrika reared upwards. Johnny was bucked off but not like normal.

   He was, unwittingly, turned through the air. He hadn’t moved so much as a muscle in his arm and yet he had rolled through the air. He made a few startlED noises and landed on his knees and palms. Otherwise, he was fine.

   Zeppeli laughed raucously. ‘Now that’s how you get off a horse.’

   Johnny huffed and sat up; turned himself around so he could face Zeppeli. Zeppeli then continued his lecture now that his student was sitting at full attention. He felt like a real teacher now.

   ‘If I had to guess, I’d say that Zebstrika’s attack stat reacted slightly to your cork there. But that wasn’t its muscle reacting upon it. It won’t let you do that if you have a weapon. The spinning itself is the weapon. But, doing that through a PokeBall… well, you’ve seen the results.’ Zeppeli explained.

   He returned his PokeBall to its holster. He smiled, smug. He held out his free hand.

   ‘So, I guess I should officially welcome you to my tutelage, Johnny Joestar.’

   ‘A pleasure, Gyro Zeppeli.’

   The two shook on it. Satisfied with the agreement they had come to.

   ‘So, the next stage is crossing a forest with a distance of twelve hundred kilometers. It looks tough. Not to mention our good friend - the President’s chosen Trainer is waiting in there somewhere… probably, from what I’ve heard. But let’s finish it, the whole race, together: one-two. Me in first, of course. And I’ll take five of the badges, I’ll let you have three. What do you say?’

   ‘Sounds good, Gyro.’

   Johnny smiled. Gyro spoke a strange medium between serious and joking but he could get used to it. He liked that plan a lot. He didn’t want the Championship, after all.


	14. VS THE SHERIFF'S REQUEST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The celebrations to commemorate the finishing of the First Stage become a mask to a grim discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to go up earlier than usual for the next few weeks; until mid-December, most likely.

   A relatively dry path wound back from Driftveil City and the church back into the threshold of the route that had made up stage one of the race. Mr Steel and Lucy, in a carriage without a roof or walls, were admiring the scenic route as led by two Ponyta and a coachman. It was really quite lovely out here.

   The sun was high in the sky and laying on its heat thick. Shadows speckled the flat, grassy plains. It was bright as anything given that it was midday right about now. Still, it was cool and a pleasant breeze played with the leaves; a most melodic, natural symphony. It was beautiful upon the area as the scent of flora wafted through on that gentle zephyr. It was hard to believe over three thousand mounts had just stampeded through mere hours ago. Now, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

  However, it was not for a tourist visit that Mr Steel and his wife had been brought out here for. It was by the whim of the sheriff and one or two of his men. He was local to Driftveil City and was well respected in the area. Unfortunately, he didn’t like to answer questions from the likes of Mr Steel and as they came to a halt, it was beginning to grate on Mr Steel’s nerves evermore.

   ‘Hey, Sheriff!’ Mr Steel cried out to the aloof man once more.

   All the beasts that had brought them to this particular part of the forest, not overly far away from the church, came to a complete stop. The sheriff glanced around. He whistled. He ignored Mr Steel once more.

   Mr Steel got up from his plush seat on the carriage. ‘Hey Sheriff!’ he yelled again; waving his fists in the air. ‘Do you have something you want to say to me or not? Why did you make us come out here anyway?’

   Slowly, the sheriff turned his head around. With cold, grey eyes he acknowledged Mr Steel.

   ‘It’s not good to have newspapers or reporters out here.’ he said. ‘Truth is, I didn’t want a lady out here either.’

   Lucy twirled the pink parasol she had brought with her. She kept her eyes to her feet.

   ‘Then what’s this about? I’m busy you now.’ Mr Steel said.

   ‘I want to talk about some bodies I found, Mr Steel.’ the Sheriff revealed.

   Mr Steel took a sharp breath. ‘What was the condition of mount Pokemon they were with’ he asked; it was the pragmatic thing to do. ‘We have mounts in this race that can do up to ninety kilometres. At the time the rider’s eyesight from the ground is about two-point-five metres high, and they’re at flying speeds!’

   One of the men that the sheriff had brought along, dismounted. He took his mount, a Sawsbuck, by its reins. He led it a little closer to a pile of rocks that were half hidden by the trees. Sheriff did the same, he dismounted his Rapidash and led it into this grotto that was present.

   ‘Yep, this is the place.’ he noted.

   Both men ignored Mr Steel who was spurting all sorts of strange things.

   ‘And what about the race?!’ he yelled. ‘It’s a dangerous sport, you know! But they knew that when they signed up to our contracts! We made them sign waivers and everything!’

   ‘Mr Steel,’ the Sheriff’s pointed voice pierced Mr Steel’s yelling, ‘you should be able to see for yourself.’

   Mr Steel removed himself from the carriage. Lucy waited behind. He wandered forward; closer to the sheriff. Mr Steel frowned and his eyes searched for these “bodies” of the Sheriff’s. His eyes widened. His stomach somersaulted.

   ‘What the hell?!’ he yelled.

   Lucy flinched. But she dared to look up from her shoes nonetheless. Everyone noticed the buzz of some sort of bug and then a stench. The stench of meat left to rot in the sun but mixed with something else; body odour, perhaps. Whatever it was, it was foul.

   Then there was the trail. What looked like a root at first turned to something else upon closer inspection. It was strangely coloured; closer to pink than brown. Not to mention oddly textured: bumpy and almost rope-like. It trailed back to behind the rocks but where it ended, in front of them, it was coiled around a bloody pistol.

   ‘Wh-What the h-hell is that?’ Mr Steel asked again. This time, his voice was a lot softer. As broken as shattered glass.

   Behind the outcrop, where that strange, flesh-coloured rope coiled back, a pair of feet stuck out. It was like a man was lying down. No, two men. Mr Steel noticed the scalp or crown of a man’s head next to those boots. From what he could tell, the man’s skin had turned a sort of green-grey. He looked ghoulish, particularly with those unfocused, glazed over eyes.

   The realisation fully struck Mr Steel now.

   ‘Return my wife to the station, now! Take her back!’ he screamed. His arm flailed about wildly.

   These were not the bodies of men who had died from exhaustion or related conditions such as dehydration or starvation. This was the work of a deranged man. Those “ropes” were the unwound entrails of the bodies. They had been sprawled out as some sort of path. Was it the killer’s doing?

   Mr Steel swung his arm towards the sheriff.

   ‘What is this? Who the hell are these people? Is there a third?’ His questions came one after another with the utmost urgency and revolt.

   The sheriff, in contrast, was quite cool beneath the situation. He shrugged.

   ‘The guy’s name on this side is Mark Baker. The guy on the far right is David Hagen. And yeah, there is a third and he’s Paul Lucasa. All three were participants in this race. It was reported that they had placed around two thousand during the seven to eight thousand metre mark. We questioned some of the other participants of the race about it… But no one saw a thing from when these men fell off their mounts to when they were found. They were found going wild in the area; if it weren’t for their saddle cloths, they woulda bin mistaken for wild ‘mon and we may never have realised somethin’ was amiss with these men.’ the Sheriff explained.

   ‘Just what is this? Why’d they die like this?’ Mr Steel asked.

   ‘We reckon that after they died, a Mandibuzz probably got to ‘em and picked ‘em apart for its dinner. Not that we usually get Mandibuzz this out west but hell, even a hungry ‘nough Tranquill might be responsible. But there aren’t any tracks ‘round to suggest either of ‘em ‘mons may’ve been at the bodies.’

   ‘So how did it happen?’ Mr Steel demanded.

   ‘Mr Steel, this is a murder.’ the Sheriff informed gravely. ‘And it was during the race, to boot. We don’t know who did it but I’d say this was premeditated. I reckon the murderer planned to knock these riders off. Yet… no one saw a thing. Even though there was three thousand people were racing alongside these unfortunates but not a single witness.’

   ‘Don’t say something like that! Why do they think that; someone must’ve seen something!’

   ‘Judging from the evidence, it is already clear to me that the suspect is among one of your participants. A possible motive for murder would be… simply thinning to the pack; boost their chances of getting a good rank and more badges. Plain old greed. After all, it’s a mighty big prize ya got there: 50, 000, 000, 000… If that’s the case, this bloke is definitely still in the race. Likely, anyone who interferes with this person’s chance of winning will be killed.’ the Sheriff explained.

    Mr Steel shut his mouth. His fists clenched by his side. There was nothing he could say. He could bark orders, he supposed but they went without saying. So, the best he could do was let that gentle breeze wash over him, comfort him in vain. But he was restless nevertheless. The sheriff noticed.

   The sheriff’s words echoed in Mr Steel’s mind. He decided he could stay silent no longer. It wasn’t his style.

   ‘Fuck, for something like this to happen… It’s inconceivable. But, the race will continue as per normal. It’s too late to postpone; hell, it’s impossible to postpone. Everyone is too involved in the race. We can’t change anything except proceed usually.’

   ‘Figured you’d say somethin’ like that… Which is why I got into contact with someone dependable. I called in a request with that Mountain Tim. Local bloke, Driftveil fella born and bred. I know ‘im like he’s my own son. He’s the best candidate to investigate the participants of this race… and look, he’s arriving now. A bit late.’

   The sheriff turned around. His mount bowed its neck. Meanwhile, the carriage trembled. The pair of Ponyta that were in the harnesses pulling it suddenly got to the ground. They bowed. A man on the back of a Tauros arrived. His Simisage happily bounded along behind him. He wore Zebstrika print clothes and had a kind-hearted smile.

   Mountain Tim welcomed himself to Lucy.

   ‘Hello.’ she offered to him.

   He smiled at her. She weakly smiled back, a tad intimidated by him as he was a stranger and she was well aware of his position as a favourite for the race. At least before Gyro Zeppeli had shown up.

   Mountain Tim lifted his head. He flicked his hat upwards then wolf-whistled. ‘Oh Lonesome Me, use Vine Whip on that their shrub.’ he instructed.

   ‘Sage!’ his Simisage crooned.

   It threw its arms forward and thick vines extended from its body. The vines behaved like a rope and Simisage manoeuvred it expertly. The vines wrapped around a few wild violets growing. It yanked them back and gathered them up. It handed them to his Trainer.

   Mountain Tim flashed another smile to Lucy as he gave her the bouquet. ‘Flowers for the young lass… You remind me of my sister when she was your age.’ he said wistfully.

   ‘Thank you.’ Lucy said.

   She accepted the flowers. She brought them to her face and smelled them. She sighed. Her brittle smile turned strong. Mountain Tim noticed the ring on her finger.

   ‘So it’s true, huh? You are married.’ he said.

   ‘Yes.’ Lucy replied.

   ‘My little sister… her biggest dream was to become a bride.’ Mountain Tim commented, lamented.

   ‘Your sister… you speak of her as though she’s passed on.’ Lucy pointed out shyly.

   That warm smile of his turned as cold as a dusky evening. ‘That’s because she has.’

   ‘My condolences…’ Lucy murmured.

   ‘S’alright, it’s been a fair few years. I’ve had my time to grieve but sometimes, I get too nostalgic for my own good... Say, Miss, you got any Pokemon to keep you company?’ Mountain Tim rambled.

   ‘No, sir.’

   ‘Well, it’s grizzly times…’ Mountain Tim unlatched a Friend Ball from his belt. ‘This here is my Maractus, Jessica, she can be great company. If you ask her real sweet-like, she’ll play a song for you. You wanna look after her for a tick whilst us grown men deal with the situation?’

   ‘Alright.’ Lucy replied.

   ‘Have a good one, Miss.’

   Mountain Tim tipped his hat to Lucy then turned on his heel. Lucy inspected the PokeBall. Mountain Tim regrouped the other men whilst remaining mounted on his Tauros. His Simisage clambered over and sat behind him as it was trained to do so. He gave Lucy one last scant glance.

   ‘Alright Jessica,’ she mumbled to herself, ‘would you like to come out of you PokeBall?’

   It opened wide at her question. Out of a sort of mysterious, silvery-light, a lively Maractus danced out. It posed for Lucy.

   ‘Is it true you’ll sing for me? Will you please sing for me? Pretty please with Cheri Berries on top?’

   ‘Mar-ractus.’

   Maractus shook its head and Lucy grimaced slightly. Then, Maractus puffed itself up and began to rattle its club-like arms. Lucy was delighted to learn that Maractus was truly like a pair of maracas. With the sound of off-key yowling and rattles in the distance, Mountain Tim was pleased to note that Lucy likely wasn’t listening to this grim discovery.

   ‘Your wife seems to be a lovely girl, Mr Steel.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Er, thanks. Mr Steel replied, stern. He was slightly perturbed.

    ‘Now, what do we know about the bloke who did this?’ Mountain Tim asked, completely refocusing the situation.

   ‘Are you sure you ought to take up a thing like this, you’re a participant in my race too.’ Mr Steel said.

   ‘He’s doing it at my request. I don’t know how much you know about Moutain Tim’s reputation but he’s taken on many a’ bounty hunting jobs all over Unova. I reckon there isn’t a man who’s nabbed more bounties than Tim. ‘Sides, he is a participant in your race. It’ll be the perfect cover for him.’ the Sheriff explained.

   Mountain Tim smiled smugly. ‘I don’t want to talk myself up too much up but my friend the Sheriff here is right. Here, let me take a closer look at things since we’re all on the same blank page.’

   Mountain Tim tugged at his reins. His Tauros slowly lumbered forth. He inspected the ground beneath him. In the dirt, there was a cluster of all sorts of hoof prints. If he had to guess, he would say two Rapidash and a Mudsdale. He was fairly certain that it was two Rapidash and a Mudsdale which had been wrangled in earlier, according to the report, so they must belong to the deceased.

   He squinted. No, something wasn’t right. Something was off. Perhaps there was a third Rapidash too. It was hard to tell. Mountain Tim glanced around. Something caught his eye further on.

   He glanced at his Simisage. It nodded at him. It manifested its vines and used them as a lasso. Whilst his Simisage expertly wrangled in a glass bottle, Mountain Tim began to spin a yarn he had heard once.

   ‘Up until now, I’ve never seen anything like this. Such a brutal killing method. However, I have heard legends of some deaths that’re very similar. There’s an old Isshu legend about where a shooting star fell in the Desert Resort. That shooting star was apparently carrying some kind of creature, maybe a Pokemon, maybe not, but either way that shooting star brought some kind of evil spirit with it. This evil spirit is sort of like an Isshu bogeyman. Apparently, this Isshu bogeyman was very greedy and bloodthirsty. And it had a type: anyone just as greedy as him.

   ‘Heard once of a foreign man, some Kalosian fellow, who found an emerald in the Desert Resort. Brought it home but when he brought it home, he brought this bogeyman with him. Died just like these poor sods: intestines and whatnot sprawled out like this, other gashes and slashes too. Anyone else who was given or, uh, acquired this emerald through unsavoury means also died that way.’

   ‘Are you trying to tell me some monster from under a kid’s bed is behind this?’ Mr Steel asked.

   ‘Not at all, sir.’ Mountain Tim replied.

   ‘What then? Aliens?’ Mr Steel continued to hound Mountain Tim with incredulity.

   ‘I’m just saying that we’ve got someone impersonating a monster on our hands.’ Mountain Tim.

   His Simisage reeled in a glass bottle. It looked up to Mountain Tim with shy eyes that gave an impression of wanting to be praised.

   ‘In a minute, Lonesome.’ Mountain Tim replied to it but he ruffled up the top of its head.

   Mountain Tim dismounted his Tauros. He looked at the hoof prints in the dirt. One Zebstrika… and three Rapidash. He was certain. However, there was something strange about one of the prints belonging to a Rapidash. He squinted, analysed the pattern. It was slightly off.

   He got up and made his thoughts known to the other men.

   ‘The hoofprints here are certainly in a scramble. That’d happen when Pokemon see human blood drawn. But these ones here, they have a distinct mountain-like pattern to ‘em, like they’ve trodden on something odd.’ he explained.

   ‘That doesn’t make it evidence. It could be a unique horseshoe marker. Something that could belong to our killer or to our deceased.’

   ‘Or maybe, it’s from something else.’ Mountain Tim half-turned to his Simisage. ‘Lonesome, wanna show us what you got there?’

   ‘Sage.’ it replied.

   His Simisage threw it the bottle. Mountain Tim caught it perfectly in his hands by the bottom; like he was afraid to touch its neck. He looked it over. There was a bloodstain on it and stuck to the bloodstain was a curious little object that was gold. Mountain Tim carefully removed it.

   ‘What have we here?’ he pondered. ‘Why it’s a button.’

   He showed the other men. It was small and golden. It had an engraving in all capital letters that read “B.JEANS”.

   ‘I think you’ll find none of our deceased are wearing buttons like this.’ he said. ‘So, it likely belongs to our killer. But I’m not quite sure what sort of connection it may have. Was it torn off during the murder or is something else? I suppose I’ll just have to investigate. But one thing is for sure, it is most certainly our very important evidence.’

   Mountain Tim cocked a grin. Mr Steel gruffly admitted defeat. It would appear that the investigation would be in very capable hands thanks to the Sheriff’s request.

   The sound of Mountain Tim’s Maractus singing died down. Lucy twirled her parasol, it was battered by a slight wind. It carried a vaguely salty tang. Was it still the wind they called Santana?


	15. VS STAGE TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second stage begins.

   That wind, whatever it was, travelled all the way back to where Johnny and Gyro were relaxing after the race. Awkwardly getting to know each other under the curve of a hill with a tree stuck in it. Away from all the hustle and bustle of the party, it was good.

   Gyro drank from a canteen. ‘Hm, so what kind of Pokemon do you carry Johnny?’ he asked idly then extended the canteen to him. ‘Thirsty?’

   ‘Uh, yeah, actually.’ Johnny replied. He reached over to his bag but Gyro shook the canteen in front of him.

   ‘I’m offering. You ain’t sick… are you?’ he asked.

   ‘Nope, healthy and hearty.’

   ‘Then go right ahead, take a sip from mine but don’t hog it.’

   ‘Thanks.’

   Johnny accepted the canteen. He drank lightly from it; a little bit away from his lips so they weren’t touching where Gyro had been sucking. He wondered if Gyro had been sick recently, probably not if he was willing to share. Whatever, Johnny eventually decided. The water tasted slightly foreign but familiar, obviously it was rainwater but still, it had a tang of something abroad. Maybe it was filtered, Johnny couldn’t tell. He handed the canteen back.

   Gyro stowed it away and got a PokeBall out instead. He flashed Johnny a golden smile.

   ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’ he said.

   ‘Mine’re usually shy around strangers.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘C’mon, you’ve seen three of my Pokemon, only right I get a little glimpse as to what kind of heat you're packing.’ Gyro insisted.

   Johnny sighed. He crossed his arms. ‘Fine. But don’t make fun of me.’

   ‘Oh, this is gonna be good, isn’t it?’ Gyro laughed. He had an annoying laugh.

   ‘People used to say I like girly Pokemon.’ Johnny said.

   He brought a PokeBall out. The PokeBall had a bright orange shell with a yellow decoration. He scrutinised it, grimaced and sighed, then chose a different PokeBall whilst putting this first one back.

   ‘Go, go, Problem child.’ Gyro told one of his steel PokeBalls.

   ‘Ugh, this is, uh, Angel.’ Johnny said.

   In a pair of silver flashes, two Pokemon joined them. Gyro’s Bibarel bounded up to him and Gyro enthusiastically greeted it. Meanwhile, Johnny’s Pokemon was a bit more standoffish. It sat in his lap but refused to acknowledge him, even when he poked its back to give it a scratch, a token of affection.

   ‘Aw, who’s my good boy? That Surf back there was brilliant, my little Problem Child.’ Gyro cooed.

   He scrunched up his Bibarel’s chubby cheeks in his hands. He made faces at it and it made faces back. Johnny couldn’t tell if Gyro was supposed to be mimicking Bibarel by pretending he had buck teeth but squishing up his own lips eyes, or if Bibarel was trying to mimic Gyro by stretching its face strangely. It was kind of cute.

   ‘And this, my friend, is Johnny.’ Gyro said.

   He turned his body and if he was going to say anything further, he completely dropped it upon seeing what sort of Pokemon Johnny’s “Angel” was. Gyro grinned eagerly. His eyebrows raised and eyes popped.

   ‘Can I touch her? What a little cutie! Where’d you find her? Wait, is she a girl?’

   ‘Yeah, Angel is a girl.’ Johnny said. ‘Um, if she lets you pet her… sure. I caught her a fair few years ago now, before my accident. I found her at a place called the Giant Chasm; it’s north-east from here, more or less. It’s a pretty out of the way spot. I was screwing around with some local Trainers and found her.’

   ‘She’s adorable!’ Gyro cooed.

   Angel was a Clefairy: a small, pink, plump creature with vestigial wings. This one sported quite the grumpy frown. Just like its Trainer truth be told. But it was excruciatingly adorable. In both cases.

   Gyro twisted around, knelt down next to Johnny, and attempted to remove the Clefairy from his lap. As his hands attempted to pick it up, she swiped at him with its stubby paws.

   ‘Yowch!’ Gyro theatrically yelped. ‘Nasty little thing, ain’t she? She’s no Angel.’

   ‘You’re telling me.’ Johnny deadpanned.

   ‘Are all your Pokemon like this?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Not all of them, just most of them.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Would you say your friendship is high with Angel then?’

   ‘...Not really.’ Johnny admitted.

   ‘Why don’t I give her a little massage then? That’ll make her a mite bit friendlier towards you.’ Gyro suggested.

   ‘Again, if she lets you touch her, go right ahead.’

   Johnny unflinchingly grabbed his Clefairy around its waist. It struggled and clawed at him, attempted to bite his hands. Johnny was utterly unfazed. Gyro noticed there were a fair few scratches and marks up and down his arms. He wondered how frequently this happened.

   ‘Here you go.’ Johnny said.

   His Clefairy had stopped struggling, seeing the futility its in movements.

   ‘C’mon girl, unlike that meanie over there, I’ll treat you right.’ Gyro teased.

   Johnny rolled his eyes. But inwardly, he was fuming over his shortcomings.

  His Clefairy relaxed almost immediately upon being handled by Gyro. He let it get comfortable in his lap. His Bibarel sniffed at Clefairy’s face, to Clefairy’s utter disgust. Bibarel, however, was oblivious to Clefairy’s discomfort as it decided to lick Clefairy to seal the fact that it had decided that Clefairy was a friend. Bibarel then lumbered around to Johnny, presumably to decide if Johnny was a friend too.

   Bibarel sniffed Johnny’s hand which he idly held out for it. It's wet nose and oily fur felt strange on his fingertips but he didn’t mind. Despite its nickname, Problem Child the Bibarel was quite friendly and well behaved. It rubbed against Johnny’s hand and he let his fingers drift through the thick scruff of its neck.

   ‘Oh ho, you are capable of being nice.’ Gyro teased.

   ‘It’s not like that. I evolved a Pokemon via full happiness once. I just don’t battle my Pokemon all that often anymore and sometimes, they get the worst of my frustrations.’ Johnny admitted.

   Gyro hummed. His Bibarel wedged itself between Johnny and Gyro, putting its head between its paws, it began to nap; or at least pretend to. Without thinking, Johnny began to stroke its side. It snorted and sniffled contentedly.

   Johnny’s Clefairy was in very good hands. It was lapping up the attention, melting in Gyro’s hands as he massaged it. Johnny tried not to watch. He just felt inadequate as a Trainer. It wasn’t his Pokemon’s fault that he was a horrid person but clearly, they were suffering for it.

   ‘Reckon you’ll evolve Angel anytime soon?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘I dunno. If I find a Moon Stone, yeah. Otherwise, no.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Uh-huh.’

   ‘So who taught you to do massages, if you don’t mind me asking?’

   ‘My father. I come from a long line of doctors. We know all sorts of remedies. Sometimes, a good old massage can be the right fix for a patient, other times it’d be surgery and medicine.’

   ‘Oh, cool.’

   Gyro grinned. ‘I think our little patient is finally content.’

   ‘Really?’ Johnny lifted his head.

   ‘Fairy…’ his Angel murmured sleepily.

   ‘She’ll be right as rain for now on.’ Gyro said. ‘Here, handle her carefully.’

   Gyro doted on Johnny’s Clefairy like it was a human baby. Johnny had never seen his Clefairy so tranquil before. He scooped it up and cradled it. Now he was the one treating it like a baby. He couldn’t help but rock Clefairy until it was completely lulled into a sleep.

   ‘Now,’ Gyro spoke sharply, slightly different from before as his voice had lost many carefree notes to it, ‘it should go without saying but you’ve got to treat your Pokemon more nicely. They’ll perform better in battle and they won’t bite or scratch as much outside of it either. Surely a veteran Trainer like you ought to know this. It’s simple stuff.’

   ‘Alright, alright, I get it. I know. Stop scolding me already, you loon.’ Johnny said. Upon saying that, he wondered if he was at that point where he could playfully insult Gyro.

   Gyro snickered. ‘It’d be nice if all our days were like this, wouldn’t it Johnny?’

   Apparently, they were at that stage of friendship.

   ‘Yeah, I guess.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘But this isn’t a vacation. This is a serious battle and journey. There won’t be a moment to spare tomorrow onwards. But it’d be nice to just enjoy the quiet today.’

   Tomorrow seemed to come all to quick. Before they knew it, they were lined up once again with announcements blaring over speaker systems. With people, more people than what could be counted, lined up to either watch or participate.

   ‘The second stage is scheduled to start in five minutes!’ Maria’s voice sailed through the air.

   In the distance, hot air balloons began to float up. Along the starting line, there was a newfound determination among the participants of the race. Having tasted defeat and scoped out the best of the best, many blazed with a second coming of the desire to win. For most.

   Pocoloco rested casually atop his mount; guzzling from his canteen. He would be the one exception to the many who were out to win with a vengeance. Though, Sandman was taking the five minutes to rest too, cross-legged on the ground surrounded by his Pokemon. Although, in his case, it was understandable seeing as how he planned to cross the region on foot.

   Diego, meanwhile, was taking the challenge ahead very seriously. He loaded his Sawsbuck’s saddle with the last of the supplies he was bringing along. He had a stern expression cross his face as he pulled himself up onto his Sawsbuck’s saddle next. He looked out to the distance with determination; his eyes scanned his competitors and the horizon.

   There was a crackle over the speaker system then, Maria spoke. She sounded as though she were reading from palm cards rather than usual free speech.

   ‘With the exception of the required checkpoints where President Valentine’s Leaders are playing hide-and-seek, all participants are free to choose their route, how many miles they do each day, if they train along the way, engage with battles with other participants, and which lodgings they stay.

   ‘Finally, if a participant in this race desires to retire for any reason, their respective numbers will be flown as flags along the route. Covered wagons staffed with medics and referees will follow behind at a distance if assistance becomes required. The referees can be borrowed out for Pokemon battles if desired. The medics meanwhile are impartial and are here to provide healthcare to both man and ‘mon. The medics will stock food and medicine to dispense at request. Bear in mind, the medics can decide if a participant Trainer is unable to continue so it is best not to visit too often. Thank you.’

   The speaker system died down.

   Gyro experimented with his goggles. They seemed to offer little protection as they were slatted. Johnny paid no mind to whatever it was Gyro was doing with them though. It seemed like he was goofing off. They were both riding high on their mounts, side by side, and chatting to each other. Johnny was reading a newspaper.

   ‘Listen to this Gyro, Sandman seems to be this stage’s top candidate for both battle and race. Even in the gambling arena, he is most popular. What do you think, Gyro?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘Bah, whatever. What about me?’ Gyro asked he cocked a cheeky smirk but he looked ridiculous with those goggles strapped to his face.

   ‘Sucks for you.’ Johnny teased. ‘I’m sixth most popular, apparently. You’re down at number nine which I suspect is because of your penalty otherwise you’d probably be more popular.’

   ‘Those people don’t know what the fuck they’re on about. Any way you look at it though, this article is obviously written by an everyday idiot. No one should take it seriously!’ Gyro complained. As he grumbled, he pulled back his goggles and put them around the base of his hat.

   Johnny suspected that he was hiding some jealousy.

   ‘But, if Sandman takes the prize again, the advantages start to stack up: extra visits to the medics, a loss shaved off, and a retry with a Leader…Not to mention the points he’ll accumulate. If that happens, he’ll get an overwhelming advantage over everyone else in the race. That’s really what we’ve got to keep from happening.’ Johnny said.

   ‘I wonder… can he run over one hundred kilometres in a day?’ Gyro asked, gravely.

   ‘I’m afraid so.’ Johnny said. He lifted his head and a man in the crowd caught his eye. ‘Oh yeah, that guy over there,’ he pointed, ‘he’s popular and a huge candidate for this round of the race since it’s home turf for him. He’s called Mountain Tim.’

   Gyro leaned around and noticed the guy. He was wearing some striking attire: he closely resembled Johnny’s Zebstrika, actually.

   ‘But look at that weird hat he’s wearing. Makes me wanna walk over there and trample on it. Right whilst he’s still wearing it!’ Gyro said.

   ‘Mountain Tim is a cowboy so he might do poorly on the short range. But then again, he did well to take fourth place yesterday. He kept pretty close behind us, after all.’

   ‘Nah, I think it’s because of his weird hat. Haven’t you noticed it yet?’

   ‘Gyro. Shut up, you don’t get an opinion on “weird hats”. So please take this seriously. I think this stage is going to turn into a battle over waterholes. We’re going up north to the bridge that connects this part of Unova to the mainland. Behind these mountains, there’s a lot of springs and lakes but not a lot of surface rivers. There’s only the one and you can see part of it from Driftveil City. However, we’re not going towards it so even though there’s plenty of greenery around, it’s all coming from below ground. But on the map, there’s options. A few oases here and there, so to speak.

   ‘So, this stage depends on how far people are willing to go to find these sweet spots, or if they’ll stop and draw water out themselves. But there’s the second concern, pick the wrong spot or you’ll find an Amoonguss den. In 1875, just when this land had become part of the recognises lands of Unova, there was an incident which involved the deaths of an entire cavalry squadron. It was a pretty bad drought that year, temperatures reaching as high as fifty degrees Celsius but they managed to find the waterholes in this area but then they found one. So, they drank and drank. Cheered: they weren’t going to die of dehydration today but then a disease started to spread through the ranks.

   ‘Twenty-six men died from bizarre symptoms. Their skin dried and they scratched themselves to the bone, their eyes dried out and cracked. Fungi began growing in their stomachs. It was later discovered that the waterhole had a cavern connected to it and was drawing in the poisons from the Amoonguss population in the area. They never found out what they died from first: choking on the fungi, dehydration and starvation, or self-inflicted damage from scratching.

   ‘This map points out which waterholes are known Amoonguss dens but there’s the possibility they’ve migrated so anyone who finds a good oasis will probably guard it well. It’d be a huge advantage.’

   ‘Yeesh, never knew Amoonguss could do such a thing.’

   ‘Only as a group. One Amoonguss won’t fuck you up that bad but a colony? Yeah.’

   ‘So, you’re the local between us which way should we go? Feels like you’ve got a plan to avoid our friends from the mushroom kingdom.’

   ‘Sort of. I reckon from the starting point, we go this way. And after travelling fifty a day, we should reach the first waterhole marked as being safe. If we stray from this path, we could lost. The forest is thick here. There’s a reason why there’s no distinct route up this way. Though the forest may seem safe, we could end up forfeiting more than the race if we slip up.’

   ‘Got it.’ Gyro nodded.

   Gyro lifted his head. He seemed expectant of an announcement, the race was due to start any second now. Johnny meanwhile lowered his, he took out the cork from yesterday. He had hung onto it. But now holding onto it just frustrated him. Yesterday, he had caused it to rotate. He had activated the Spin within himself but today, he had been unable to. Johnny had taken every word of Gyro’s lecture to heart. He had engraved every emotion and action he had done yesterday to his mind. And yet, it proved fruitless today. So, Johnny asked himself: what would it take to begin the rotation of it once more?

   ‘It’s now only thirty seconds until we start! Alright, just an instant, then the second stage will begin! There is no track laid along the race path so the train will head straight to the next checkpoint! They say the hot air balloons may only follow the oceanside path! Let’s go… start!’ Maria commentated.

   The boom and sparkle of fireworks punctuated her pause.

   ‘The ten o’clock fireworks have flown right on time! I bid bon voyage to all our participants as they make their way from the starting line!’ yelled Maria.

   There was a clumsy start for most. Sprinters had heart had to rein themselves in, it would be a long haul so there was little point to exert too much effort now. So, everyone ambled forward at a respectable pace. Everyone but one.

   Johnny watched in anguished, frustrated silence as Gyro and his Mudsdale careened out in front of everyone. Dust and blades of grass swirled behind him in his wake.

   ‘It’s Gyro! It’s Gyro! Just like in the first stage, he went flying ahead in his own! The mounts behind him will have truly eaten his dust! In a few more minutes, we won’t even see him: he’ll be a speck beneath the foliage of the forest! At any rate, Gyro Zeppeli plans to complete the second stage as a solo act!’

   There were no words to express the utter pent-up frustration welling up inside of Johnny right now. They had literally just been discussing how best to go about this as a team and it hadn’t even taken Gyro two seconds to abandon it all. The frustration solidified but not as frustration, or at least any longer. Johnny refused to let Gyro throw away their plans like a fool, even if it meant looking like one in the process.

   ‘Argh, I’m coming after you, Gyro! There’s no way you can handle twelve hundred k’s in a day, fuck, you’re an idiot!’ Johnny growled under his breath.

   He charged forward. Johnny sped out, hot on Gyro’s heels. It didn’t take as long as he feared to catch up to him but already, he was a fair way out of from the rest of the pack. Johnny dreaded if Gyro knew he’d act out like this. Like some sort of game or taunt. Just before Johnny thought he could catch up completely, Gyro swerved out.

   ‘Huh? What’s this? Gyro Zeppeli is… changing course? So he wasn’t just flying out; he’s picking a different route!’ Maria announced.

   Johnny gritted his teeth as he visualised the map and their current locations on it.

   ‘What the hell?’ he spat.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli is headed into the deeper parts of the forest! It looks like he’s aiming to go up the midsection between the ocean cliffs and the last of the icy mountains… But why would he do that?’ Maria yelled. ‘It’d be much faster to just keep following close to the ocean! Does he plan to ignore the closer waterholes too? Does he not fear the stories of 1875? From his current angle, the closest waterhole would be one hundred and fifty kilometres away!’

   Nevertheless, Johnny followed Gyro in his reckless tracks.

   ‘What the hell are you thinking, Gyro Zeppeli?’ Johnny roared at the back of Gyro’s head once they came close to one another. ‘At least give me some reason for all this speed?’

   Gyro turned his head and cooly replied: ‘What? Even with our little alliance, we’re still rivals in this race. Wanna come with? If we swerve out this way first, we can avoid conflict on the main roads and that’ll save us energy. And this way, we’ll also get the leg up on even Sandman.’

   He turned his head back to what was in front of him. He hoped Johnny was content with that answer. He considered it quite level-headed and well-reasoned. Truth be told, he had a strangely good feeling about this path closer to those mountains. He didn’t know why but he was an impulsive fellow. He trusted his instinct. It hadn’t steered him too wrong before.

   The pair continued on ahead. Being well within the vicinity of Driftveil City, the forest was quite thin here. Most plains and long grass up to their mounts’ knees. It was green and verdant here, deceptively moist and well-watered. It was gorgeous though, for all the hidden dangers anyway.

   Their thoughts were completely separated from the rest of the pack. If it were not for Maria’s announcements, they may never have noticed that someone had curved off from the main pack to follow them. At first, they just thought Maria was talking about Johnny but then when she changed her tune, their ears pricked up immediately at Maria’s statements over the speakers.

   ‘Oooh, now it looks like Gyro isn’t the only one crossing the whole forest! He’s gained a follower! But who on Earth would voluntarily pick such a route? It’s like setting themselves up for suicide! All they must be thinking about is the prize at the end of this stage! Wait, I can see his number… That’s Mrs Robinson!’


	16. VS MRS ROBINSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyro and Johnny are caught in the trap of a clever assailant.

   Riding upon the back of a highly unusual mount, as far as racing goes anyway, was Mrs Robinson. And though he had such an effeminate name and a somewhat androgynous appearance, he was male. He was tall and broad-shouldered, he bore eccentric accessories: all fashioned to mimic the human eyeball.

   He rode a sturdy looking creature, a Scolipede, which was swept up in a lightweight saddle and decorations, streamers reading “true love”. Together, he charged forward. He let his Scolipede navigate as from behind its tall, thick neck, his vision was hindered; not to mention that he had an eyepatch guarding his right eye.

   Gyro continued on ahead, business per usual. Johnny attempted to follow ut with that announcement ringing in his ears, he couldn’t help but let the cautious side of him lead his actions. He furtively glanced over his shoulder, to catch glimpses of this Mrs Robinson and let Gyro know what kind of company they could expect from him.

   ‘He’s about one hundred and fifty lengths away from us. He’s got weird things hanging from his ears but it’s too far away to know what. So far this route has been filled with nothing but weirdoes. I can see his number, yeah, that’s Mrs Robinson alright.’ Johnny rambled.

   He and Gyro continued on their way. As they navigated through the forest, they lost sight of Robinson. He wasn’t making as huge as an attempt to follow them as they thought. The further they travelled, the denser and thicker the forest became. Soon, it was just them and an eerie silence. They could see patches of the sky through the leaves but not much else. They hadn’t lost sight of any hot air balloons hanging around though, which may turn out to be fortunate.

   Their momentum came to a petered halt. They took the moment to regroup and re-examine their maps and surroundings. Both were a tad bit sore but it was nothing to complain too much about. Johnny stared down the barrel of a telescope, he swung it around.

   ‘Hey, Gyro…’ Johnny called out.

   Gyro grunted in acknowledgement.

   ‘We’re about six hours from the starting line. And according to the map, we should be reaching the top now… as long as we’ve been following the right direction, that is. That means, at the very worst, it should only be another eighty kilometres before we find a safe waterhole and we can refill our canteens. I just want to make sure we’re on the right trail, to be on the safe side. Because if we stray too much, we’ll either end up over a cliff and into the ocean or we’ll end up on the mountains. Obviously, we don’t want either scenario.’ Johnny said.

   Gyro pulled out a map of his own. He made thoughtful noises as he turned it around every which way. He examined every detailing on it. Johnny watched and a little bit of horror and doubt crept into him. Eventually, Gyro decided that he completely understood the map.

   Johnny padded up next to Gyro. Their mounts sniffed at each others’ noses in greeting. Gyro handed the map to Johnny and pointed out squares in its grid to Johnny.

   ‘Yeah, everything’s fine.’ Gyro announced, a tad too brash. ‘Everything’s perfect! We’re on the right trail, absolutely! Uh, maybe…’

   ‘What? What did you just say now?’ Johnny yelled. ‘Hold on a second, did you just say “maybe”?! “Maybe”?!’

   Gyro went on a little bit ahead of Johnny, to escape his screeching.

   ‘Don’t worry about it!’ Gyro yelled back. ‘Of course, we’re going the right way. I mean, look: the hot air balloon is the area, right through those trees there. That means we’re following the map! Certainly.’

   ‘What was that? “Certainly”?’ Johnny cried out incredulously.

   He caught up to Gyro.

   ‘It’s eighty kilometres to the next safe waterhole if we deter even a little bit from that route we risk death! To be honest, I’m still trying to work out if you know anything about this forest outside of what I told you.’ Johnny yelled.

   Gyro leaned away from him, his ear ringing from Johnny’s loud voice. He wasn’t exactly a “big guy” but he more than made up for it with the volume he could reach.

   ‘We’re fine, I know plenty about forests. Even this one in particular, you just need to quit worrying. I’ve got everything under control, trust me.’ Gyro huffed. He then decided it would be wise to change the subject. ‘How’re your “revolutions” coming? That’s a tad bit more important, don’t you think? That cork exercise I taught you yesterday, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it already.’

   Before Johnny got the chance to reply, something flew by between them, although a lot closer to Gyro. If he hadn’t have been leaning out of Johnny’s way, he likely would have been pierced by whatever it was. At first, it kind of felt like an extremely small but fast bug may have flown past honestly, it had the intensity akin to a gunshot.

   Both looked around, more than a tad perturbed. But not quite worried either.

   ‘What the hell was that?’ Johnny asked.

   Gyro grew serious as his eyes fell upon a clunky figure draped in the shadows of the forest.

   ‘Just now, something came flying at us. From someone… in front of us.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘Gy-Gyro…’ Johnny stuttered. ‘Your ear.’

   ‘Huh?’

   Gyro tentatively put his hand over the cartilage of his ear. His fingertips became slick with blood and he could feel free, perfect holes throughout his ear. He was all torn up because of it. He clamped his palm over his ear. He looked around. He lost all composure.

   Johnny raised his arms and soon felt his own flesh become pierced by invisible, tiny arrows. Blood spilt from the swift cuts.

   ‘From ahead of us!’ Gyro yelled, his panic causing his Mudsdale to buck and stomp, a tad scared itself.

   ‘Shit, I’ve been cut!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Something keeps cutting my arms!’

    There was nothing he could do to stop the bleeding or from getting new cuts. He just stared in dumb, wide-eyed amazement as he kept getting barraged with these thin cuts. He and Gyro then looked around. The clunky figure from before had drawn in closer to them. He was running parallel to them but there was something off about his movements. Both noticed.

   ‘That guy!’ Johnny yelled, pointed him out.

   ‘Is he the one shooting at us? What the hell is he doing? Is he tryin’ to interfere with our progress?’

   With each question, Gyro’s rage built up. He burned with fury next to Johnny.

   ‘Oi, calm down, Gyro. The direction of the attacks seems strange given his location to us. Hey, try not to make too many movements, and get your Mudsdale to calm down too.’ Johnny suggested. ‘You said you were familiar with forests, including this one so maybe if you cool your head, you might realise that this isn’t the work of another racer.’

   Johnny paused and he dug something out of his wounds. He pulled out thin cacti needles. Gyro raised an eyebrow; a good poker face. Johnny was becoming all the more convinced that he knew nothing about Unovan forests but that could be a pressing issue for another time.

   ‘There’re no cacti Pokemon in this area, at least not natively. But, normal cacti are. And there’s a species called “cholla” - maybe you’ve heard of ‘em. They react to the vibrations around them and will shoot off their needles in reaction. I think it's a type of a pollination since there are seeds in their needles. We might’ve accidentally walked right into a patch of it.’ Johnny said. ‘Hang on, let me check this theory.’

   Johnny leaned out over his Zebstrika’s side. They had stopped in the passage with some rocks around. There were plenty of crevices around which could get plenty of sunshine and foster the environment cacti could survive in. He hocked a big glob of spit as far as he could get it to go.

   As the droplet fell over some of the rocks, from beneath it fifty odd cacti needles shot out. Johnny nodded, his theory confirmed. Johnny carefully trod out and stuck his neck out. From beneath some pale rocks, there was a thick patch of cacti growing. He didn’t know the exact species but they were definitely in approximation of “cholla”.

   ‘Shit, yep, those’re probably cholla.’ he said. ‘Looks like there’s a whole bunch growing around here.’

   ‘So we’re the ones at fault here.’ Gyro muttered. ‘Or is it that jerk’s fault, is it possible he set up a trap?’

   ‘I don’t know… In order to launch the needles of the cholla, you’d have to be in extremely close range. You couldn’t even shoot a rifle from over there! Whatever hit at us… to think they were even aiming is impossible!’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Maybe if he had motive, it’d be possible.’ Gyro looked up at the sky.

   He saw a yellow-orange hot air balloon drift through the crevices of the sky visible between the bright foliage. Perhaps this wasn’t quite as close to wishful thinking as he thought it was. Intentional aiming of weapons at competitors was prohibited but utilising something like cholla, that would make for a great “it was an accident” type defence.

   Gyro and Johnny stared down their mystery competitors. His mount began to speed out, they could see a silhouette of what kind of Pokemon it was but in the distance and with its luggage, it was still too distorted for confirmation.

   ‘Wait, he’s turning around!’ Johnny pointed out. ‘But I still can’t tell if he’s targetting us.’

   ‘Shit, at this distance, escaping is… Dammit, this is bad Johnny! We’re in a dangerous position!’ Gyro yelled.

   He turned to Johnny and his Mudsdale built itself to a canter.

   ‘Run! Johnny, run!’ Gyro barked at him before swinging his head back around to what was in front of him.

   ‘I got it, I’m running!’ Johnny shouted back.

   His Zebstrika bolted forward. Johnny attempted to flee but he was barraged once more with needles but these ones were different to the cacti needles from before. Their range was far more precise. Johnny yanked on his reins and the material became stringy. It was utterly pierced with needles. These needles that had been shot into his reins were larger than thicker than the ones from before.

    He came loose from his saddle. His Zebstrika continued to gallop forward, almost oblivious to Johnny’s peril. Johnny attempted to hold onto his rein but it was useless. A second barrage came through.

   Half of his face was pierced. Even his eye was pierced. This time, he was completely thrown from his mount in surprise and pain. Gyro had heard the noises. He watched as Johnny crashed into the leaf litter on the ground.

   ‘What the?’

   A third barrage sprayed through the air. Luckily, Gyro was a little more guarded than Johnny. He had half-expected it after seeing johnny get gunned down like that. He raised his arm and it was better his forearm to receive the damage than his face. Still, he was a little harrowed.

   Gyro yanked on his reins. His Mudsdale came to a whinnying halt. He twisted back around to look at Johnny. He had one hand clamped over his face whilst the other propped him up. He was dirty and dusty, groaning. He pulled himself around and Gyro saw how red his face was with blood. It was grotesque.

  Johnny clawed at the ground. He looked up, begged silently, that Gyro help him. Gyro coldly returned such a pitiful action. Instead, he barked an order at Johnny:

   ‘Hurry up, Johnny Joestar!’ he yelled. ‘And get back on your damn Zebstrika! This has been his intent from the very start!’

   Johnny crawled a little bit further, a little closer. He squinted ahead, vaugely in Gyro’s direction. That’s when Gyro realised that he hadn’t been silently asking for help. He was hard to look at either way though, with the whites of his eyes dyed a pale pink from his blood.

   ‘Just keep going!’ Johnny yelled. ‘There’s blood in my eyes but the eyeballs themselves’re fine.’

   Their competitor had drawn in closer now. Close enough to be recognised as Mrs. Robinson; to little surprise though.

   Gyro and his Mudsdale remained cemented to the ground. Much to Johnny’s frustration.

   ‘I said go!’ Johnny screamed as he pawed at his eyes, trying to clean them up a little bit. ‘I know I promised to cross the goal line with you but we’re still rivals, remember! You have to concentrate on getting out of this place!’

   Gyro chewed his lip. A dark shadow was cast down over half his face. Johnny couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He removed his hands from his face. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, trying to flush out the blood.

   ‘A race is still a race!’ Johnny declared. ‘There’s no reason for you to wait around for me! I’ll catch up once I wipe up my blood.’

   Gyro looked up. A cross determination moulded his face. Johnny could have sighed out of relief. It seemed that convinced him. His Mudsdale stomped around viciously.

   ‘Got it.’ Gyro said. ‘We are both rivals, so I’ll head onwards.’

   ‘Yeah, go!’ Johnny’s voice became hoarse. He continued to crawl towards a rock propped up between him and his Zebstrika.

   ‘Yeah, straight in the direction of that son of a bitch.’ Gyro cussed.

   Gyro reared back slightly, just a bit, then burst forth. He and his Mudsdale sailed over Johny. Johnny honestly felt his heart stop. He propped himself up against the outcrop and watched as Gyro charged into battle.

   ‘Our eyes met and now we have the battle! Them’s the rules!’ Gyro roared as he unclipped a PokeBall from his hip.

   Mrs. Robinson was silent. He neither rejected the battle or excitedly accepted it. Though either action would ultimately had little effect on the outcome as Gyro had gone in guns blazing. And with the hot air balloon floating in the distance, it meant no foul play would be tolerated.

   ‘Gyro?! Are you insane?’ Johnny screamed. ‘You lose a battle and you’re disqualified from the race! Even if you win, if you’re Pokemon are too injured to go on and a medic notices, you’re disqualified! You’re already on probation, are you really going to risk it this early on? Besides, we don’t have any evidence that he’s been targeting us! Is it really okay to give it all up now? Even knowing this you continue on?’

   It was like screaming at a brick wall.

   ‘Ariados! Beedrill!’ Mrs. Robinson yelled as he tossed out a pair of PokeBalls.

   In front of him, in a silvery light, his Pokemon appeared. They hissed and spat. They seemed every bit as nasty as their master in temperament.

   Gyro didn’t have to stop and think about this. This was a double battle, apparently, and he knew exactly who to rely on in this scenario. Especially one between two Bug-Poison types.

   ‘Go, go, Jailbreak and Custard Pie!’ Gyro yelled back as he spun out his own pair of PokeBalls.

   From the strange, skill-enhancing Spin, emerged his Pokemon: an Aggron and an Ursaring respectively. Gyro grinned. He was more than eager to battle but Mrs. Robinson had snagged the first turn given that his Ariados had the highest base speed between the four Pokemon in the field.

   ‘Pin Missile, Beedrill!’

   Mrs. Robinson’s Beedrill surged forth. The drills upon its appendages began to spin and glow. Its eyes flashed. It sprayed the middle between Gyro’s Ursaring and Aggron with its needles. It was the middle where Gyro and his Mudsdale were standing. His Ursaring and Aggron took the brunt of the attack but there were five onslaughts of the attack in all. Gyro sustained damage but he was strangely cocky; like he didn’t mind that his arms were torn up and that he had blood on his face.

   Nevertheless, Mrs. Robinson was intimidated by this expression of Gyro. He seemed convinced that he had the upperhand. He dismounted from the back of his Scolipede and sauntered forward. His mount hovered behind him, loomed behind him.

   ‘I’ve dedicated my whole life to raising Bug-type Pokemon. Yes, I have been ones targeting you two fools.’ mrs Robinson sneered. He affectionately stroked the neck of his Scolipede. ‘My dear Scolipede here has the finest Pin Missile I’ve ever seen in any Pokemon. Using it, I was able to set off those cholla cacti in the area but it’s not just my dearest Scolipede, Ariados, and Beedrill you ought to worry about. I have even more Pokemon hidden in the area, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. They have you completely surrounded.

   ‘But now that I’ve told you my secret, it’s time to finish you off! Take this! I will not allow you or anyone to race in front of me!’ Mrs. Robinson screamed.

   ‘A moment’s notice, you said, eh? Let’s test that theory.’ Gyro said.

   Johnny’s teeth chattered, he shivered too. He couldn’t help but fret over Gyro. He was awfully confident despite the circumstances. Mrs. Robison could very easily out-speed Gyro if he wasn’t bluffing.

   ‘Rock Slide, the both of ya: Custard, Jailbreak!’ Gyro yelled.

   If Mrs. Robinson had desecrated the line between fair and foul play in this double battle then Gyro had just straddled it. Given that he had the next “two” turns, his play wasn’t exactly unfair but it came extremely close.

   His Pokemon roared and growled. Out of seeming thin air, an immense tumble of jagged rocks tumbled over their target. It practically rained rocks, stones, and pebbles. Dust was kicked up and Mrs. Robinson and his team were buried in the Rock Slide. It was horrific, truth be told.

   Mrs. Robinson and his Pokemon were crushed beneath the rocks. Every single one that fell bounced back with blood stains then skittered onto the ground. Every movement was accompanied by the gut-wrenching sounds of breaking bones and suffocation.

   Gyro returned his Pokemon to their PokeBalls. The rocks turned to dust. The dust turned to nothingness like from whence they had come. He was silent. Mrs. Robinson was a pulpy mess. His Pokemon were in a similar state but Pokemon were known to be more resilient than humans, even in situations like this.

   Johnny and Gyro didn’t stay around for much longer. It was hard to look at the remains of what Gyro had done but Mrs. Robinson was still alive. He moved anyway. It was uncertain for how long he would be alive for. So, they got out of there.

   Which was fortunate as someone else came along this way: Mountain Tim. He inspected the hoof prints and concluded that whoever had been this way hadn’t been mounted on a Rapidash.

   Mountain Tim drew closer in and he greeted the seemingly tame Pokemon in the area. They bowed to him, curiously enough. They were a bit confused and when Mountain Tim found the Scolipede resting next to its master, he made sense of it all based on the saddle cloths the Scolipede wore. The mess next to it was Mrs. Robinson, still a touch alive but beyond saving. Mountain Tim offered a few prayers for his soul and kept wandering idly through the area.

   Then he found the tracks that he had been searching for. Tracks belonging to the killer. The prints of a Rapidash wearing unique horseshoes. They were fresh, remarkably untouched by the wind. They couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes old. With that, Mountain Tim became all the more certain that he was on the right trail.


	17. VS CURIOSITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny grows too curious for caution. Gyro remains firm in his stances and mysteries.

   Retiring for the night was Johnny and Gyro. Time of sunset was approximately five minutes past six. They were probably fifty kilometres out from the first waterhole. Though their current rank in the race was first, at the time of them making camp anyway.

   As sunset had closed in and with frivolous colours, it danced through the sky. It turned the land an eerie black and the sky a fervent red. With night so close, it was time to make camp. Their Mounts remained out of their PokeBall and all of them were sheltered by a cluster of rocks and taller trees. A meek fire had been kindled but it was enough to keep them warm. Gyro had been tasked more camp-related duties, mostly so that the break would give Johnny time to revisit the lesson on the Spin he had received yesterday.

   Johnny studied the cork in his hands carefully. His eyes ran along the lovely script engraved upon its crown; “Champagne”, it read and still faintly smells of. He held it close to his face. He had the image of the Spin engraved in his mind so he knew what he was after. He was after superimposing the images of a spinning leaf or a twirling dancer onto this cork.

   He focused intently on that image. He concentrated hard on moving the cork. At first, it was a slight twinge upon his skin but soon, Johnny managed it. It lifted off his pal and spun before his eyes. It was wobbly and uncertain but it spun. His eyes widened. Johnny tried his best to control it but it was like the rotation had a mind of its own.

   The cork flew up along his arm. He grinned.

   ‘Gyro! Gyro!’ he called. ‘It’s spinning!’

   Gyro may have made a noise but he just continued to stand around, staring out into the distance clotted by trees and rocks.

   Johnny frowned and he utterly failed to keep the cork near him. It spun off his shoulder and seemingly disappeared into the dusky air. Johnny figured he would find the cork later, it couldn’t have gotten that far. He half rolled over, to be a little closer to Gyro who was on the other side of the fire between them. He started to call out again.

   ‘What, Gyro! Weren’t you watching? You didn’t see me, did you? Why weren’t you watching, it was great! It really spun, the cork!’ Johnny pestered Gyro. He sounded rather close to an overexcited child.

   ‘Why do I have to watch you all day?’ Gyro asked, a tad annoyed-sounding. ‘You really did it, huh? Well then, do it again.’

   ‘Uh, oh, shit.. Where is it?’ Johnny muttered to himself.

   He inspected his bags and around the rocks but it shouldn’t have flown off too far. There were too many barriers in its way to have done that. Johnny straightened up and tried to remember which way it had flown off to.

   He heard a funny noise and felt something slimy down his back. He looked up and his Zebstrika was hovering quite close. Its tail flicked about. His blood ran cold as he tried to work out what was sitting between his skin and shirt. A little bit of panic took over when he saw the cork, next to his knee, sitting innocently on the ground.

   ‘What was that… Oh no, please tell me the cork didn’t go up my Zebstrika’s ass!’ he yelped.

   ‘Shush, Johnny.’ Gyro hissed. He nodded his head in the direction he was still facing. ‘There’s someone coming towards us.’

   Johnny half-turned around and peered over the rocks he was resting against. He squinted into the distance. There was a definite, mounted figure down there, against the sunset and trees.

   ‘You reckon this guy is planning to run the whole night?’

   ‘It’d be too bloody dangerous, in my opinion. He might be coming this way, actually.’

   Gyro turned towards Johnny. In the low light, the sharpness of his face was accentuated. He looked somewhat scary like this, no, grave.

   ‘You said this route is filled with “weirdos”... did you bring a weapon with you, Johnny?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘When you say “weirdos”, you mean guys like Mrs Robinson, right? Because that was by chance.’

   ‘You think so? We’re popular candidates for Champion, after all, Johnny. Anyway, if you have a weapon, get them out now. If he comes to close, we’ll drive him back.’

   Gyro turned away from Johnny. A slight breeze caught his cloak, it fluttered slightly with the leaves surrounding them. Johnny hesitantly began to rifle through his stuff.

   ‘Uh, well, I did bring a gun but I’ve never fired it before.’ he admitted. ‘You know, just in case.’

   As Johnny went through his own stuff, his eye was caught by the bag Gyro had left behind. It was just a small messenger bag type thing, made from canvas and a brown-green in colour. It had half opened and its contents were slowly sliding out, into view. Johnny couldn’t help but let his gaze stray to the documents and some sort of case.

   A metallic case that was a deep, royal purple with a fleur-de-lis coat of arms rested on some papers. The papers were aged slightly but new enough. They seemed from a newspaper. No, definitely from a newspaper: a black-and-white face peered out anxiously from beneath the metallic case. Next, to that face, that child’s face, was a headline: “Boy given the death sentence for treason”.

   Johnny quietly put down his own thing. He knew he shouldn’t have let his curiosity get the better of him but he began to slide the documents from Gyro’s luggage closer to him. He discovered it wasn’t as a case, it was a letter holder than bore that fleur-de-lis crest. Johnny recognised it as the sort of thing that usually given to people with explicit permission from blue-blooded lords from overseas. It was a treasure. Johnny swallowed. Was it possible that Gyro was some kind of thief?

   Curiosity turned to dread but Johnny continued to discreetly go through Gyro’s things. Johnny softly tugged on the newspaper beneath the letter holder. He caught sight of another headline. It read: “Officer Zeppeli protests against boy’s guilt”. And suddenly, the mystery thickened. Was it possible that this Gyro Zeppeli was related to the “Officer Zeppeli” from the headline?

   ‘Weren’t you taught better growing up?’ Gyro’s voice thundered behind Johnny. ‘It’s not polite to go through people’s things.’

   Johnny turned around and Gyro had been right behind him. Right above him, almost. But now, he had already walked off. Johnny grabbed his things, tried to mask his guilt.

   ‘I wasn’t lookin’ through nothin’!’ Johnny lied. ‘But you… Who are you? You’re not from Unova, I know that much!

   ‘You should stick to going through your own luggage.’ Gyro warned.

   The flames crackled in front of him. His voice had been low and Johnny had been thoroughly silenced. At least outwardly. Inwardly, he was festering with all sorts of questions about Gyro Zeppeli.

   Why was Gyro able to use the Spin?

   What was the Spin’s origin?

   What was Gyro’s origin; his roots?

   Was Gyro trying to save that boy all by himself?

   Were these questions related? Or was it all coincidences?

   Johnny studied Gyro’s profile. Johnny’s hadn’t noticed before but Gyro had a very strong profile, a large nose but handsome eyes with long lashes. He was so aloof and angered. Understandable, obviously but still. It wasn’t quite like him. This was the guy who had almost gotten them lost earlier today and was constantly using bravado to hide concerns and similar. Then again, this was the guy who had let his Pokemon beat a man to within an inch of his life. So Johnny was all the more unsure of just who he had befriended here, for lack of a better word.

   Gyro couldn’t stay silent forever though. At least in general anyway. He spoke up after what felt like forever.

   ‘That guy really is coming this way.’ he stated.

   His voice was at neutral. So if he was still mad at Johnny, it was somewhat disguised or muted right now.

   ‘Looks like the balloons have landed… That might mean this route just became applicable for race interference. We shouldn’t let him come closer.’ Gyro said.

   That was more than enough reason for Johnny to get in a scramble. He coaxed his Zebstrika closer. It lowered his head for him and with a mighty heave-ho, Johnny flipped himself onto his mount’s back. He got comfortable quickly enough, his eyes darted about though.

   The guy drew in a little closer and Gyro decided that was close enough. He raised his arm and given the blackness that covered him due to the sunset, despite having an empty hand, he did look armed from a distance.

   ‘All right, stop there!’ Gyro yelled. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

   The Trainer, mounted on a Zebstrika, still came in. His mount was a bit downcast, walked with almost a limp.

   ‘I’m talking to you!’ Gyro yelled. ‘I told you to stop right there!’

   ‘D-Don’t shoot, I mean no harm! I only came here ‘cause I saw the fire.’

   A raggedy adolescent Trainer became known to Johnny and Gyro. He looked a tad younger than Johnny but with his pimply face and scrawny stature, it was hard to tell. He looked dirty. He wore a shirt with a ring target sewn onto it. He still kept drawing in closer.

   ‘Meaning harm or no harm is something I’ll judge once you leave!’ Gyro warned.

   The boy revealed his hand. He was quaking like a leaf and sweaty. On his left hand, he had two fingers swollen to the size of sausages and just as pink in colour. His wound looked grotesque.

    ‘This is… This is real bad! I was squatting down and taking a dump by a weird-ass bush when it attacked! It covered me in some sort of powder and my I tried to block with my hand and now it won’t stop swelling.’ he explained, panic rising through his voice.

   He dismounted and limped towards Johnny and Gyro. As pathetic as he seemed, he still had the ability to be a threat.

   ‘Why’re you gettin’ off your mount, asshole? Don’t make me tell you to stay away more than once!’ Gyro warned.

   He still continued to walk lamely towards them.

   ‘Wait,’ Gyro remembered something that youth had said, ‘Hey, Johnny, did he say he was attacked by something?’

   ‘Uh, something like that…’ Johnny replied. He was still tripping up on that “bush” part of his description.

   ‘A poisonous plant! It was hiding in the bushes, it, um, looked more like a mushroom! Please let me use your fire to burn my wound clean!’

   ‘It could be a fake wound.’ Gyro worried.

   ‘Or it could be a very real attack from a Foongus.’ Johnny pointed out. ‘Once you’re poisoned from one of them, if you don’t clean and cure the wound immediately, you’ve only got one day left on your calendar.’

   Gyro huffed. ‘Too bad, go and wait for a medic to catch up. Drop outta the race.’

   ‘What’re you talking about? There’s no way any of the covered wagons will be coming out this way at this time. Please, I’ll be dead before dawn.’ He fumbled with a knife. ‘After I cut off the poison, I want to clean it so gimme some fire.’

   Johnny became slightly more panicked. ‘Are we just gonna let him die?’

   ‘I - I dunno. He’s a strange guy. I don’t trust him…’ Gyro replied.

   But he didn’t like the idea of letting some random guy who hadn’t attacked him die. That was just cruel, unprovoked. Gyro grabbed a stick off the ground and shoved it into the fire. The tip quickly caught alight. He pulled it back and began to calmly approach the dismounted, young Trainer.

   ‘I won’t let you come near us but I will give you this to use.’ Gyro said.

   The Trainer dropped to his knees and cried tears of joy and relief.

   ‘Th-Thank you! Thank you! Thaaaank you!’ he cried.

   But then, he did the unthinkable. He fluidly removed his belt from around his waist. His tears dried and ceased his hysterics. He backed away from the fire and collapsed by the trunk of an aged tree. He was calm as he wrapped his belt around his neck and slung the other end over a branch. As he strung himself up, he began to choke and sputter.

   ‘Hey, what’re you doing?’ Gyro panicked as he came closer.

   ‘Anesthesia. It’s anaesthesia. I’m gonna need it as a pain-killer whilst I cut my poisoned fingers off.’ He grinned a wobbly grin, there were traces of lust in his eyes. ‘I invented this way of doing it myself. It’s outta this world. But don’t ever try it… Normally I just let girls strangle me.’

   He took a breath. Gyro raised his guard whilst Johnny flinched. Neither of them could have possibly prepared for the full extent of his Trainer’s apparent insanity.

   ‘Just before I pass out!’ he declared on the top of his lungs.

   He hoisted down his belt and frothed at the mouth. His eyes rolled in different directions. And yet, remained coherent enough to strike through his swollen fingers. He lopped them clean off.

   Johnny’s stomach wretched. ‘What the hell? He cut his fingers off! A Foongus must’ve poisoned him for real!’

   ‘I really didn’t need to see this sort of thing before going to sleep.’ Gyro said through gritted teeth.

   He cautiously got closer to the unconscious body. He had his lit branch poised and ready to poke and prod. But, in the end, he decided to lob it at the guy.

   ‘Here’s your fire, now just get the hell out of here!’ he yelled, disgusted.

   Johnny clamped his hands over the saddle. He raised himself a little higher, to get a better view of what was going on.

   ‘It doesn’t seem like he’s moving anymore.’ he commented.

   ‘Yeah, of course. You’d definitely die if you did that! He might’ve really done himself in with the strangling.’ Gyro said.

   Still, he thought he better get closer still yet. The fire was still contained, burning out of the branch despite the leaf litter. It must be too wet to ignite or something. The Trainer’s bloodied knife had been dropped on the ground. It seemed strangely ominous but nowhere near as odd as the opened PokeBall that had tumbled out of the Trainer’s pocket.

   ‘Hey, wake up!’ Gyro yelled, he gave the Trainer a kick to the side for good measure. ‘I’m sorry I was so hard on you when you were poisoned. But we don’t want you lying over here all night either. Just get up and go!’

   He was as pallid and stiff as a corpse at this point. Drool and foam leaked from his gaping lips. His neck seemed to be bent the wrong way; his head lolled. Gyro poked his limp body with his toes.

   ‘Surely he’s not dead…’

   ‘Hey, Gyro, I think I found his name on the racer list.’ Johnny piped up. He was holding a folded-up piece of paper. ‘I think he might be Andre Boom Boom. Number C-450, oh and he placed tenth in the first stage.’

   Gyro felt his foot tingle. He glanced at the knife and then to the PokeBall. The PokeBall had opened and with that seemingly insignificant fact, Gyro couldn’t help but become on guard. He glanced down at his boot; his eye widened. He hadn’t even noticed but the top of his boot had become shredded in a perfect, even swipe. Two, distinct sections but it didn’t hurt. It just tingled.

   ‘And this Boom Boom, hang on, wait a minute…’ Johnny continued. A pitch of concerned turned his voice upward. ‘Ninth place is Benjamin Boom Boom and look here: eleventh place is L.A. Boom Boom. Three of them! With the same last name! He’s not alone; a family?’

   Though Johnny was being loud, it was not Johnny’s voice that had caught Gyro’s ear. When Johnny quit talking, he noticed it too. Both of them trained their ears on the sound of pounding hooves; at least two mounts. As soon as they turned their heads, from the darkening distance came to figures, bolting towards them. Their silhouettes distorted by the flames that trailed along the necks of their mounts: a pair of Rapidash.

   It would appear that a family reunion would unfold in the next few minutes.

   ‘Is my Bro Andre dead?’ screamed the scraggly red-head of the two. ‘Daddy, do you really think Big Brother is dead?’

   ‘Oh shut up!’ the presumed Father roared back. ‘Men don’t cry! But that Gyro Zeppeli! He carefully didn’t approach Andre til the very end; Andre’s giving it all he’s got, too! Number Three knows exactly what to do in this situation!’

   ‘Who the hell are these guys? They’re coming right at us!’ Johnny yelped.

   ‘They’re a three-man team, by the looks of things. Probably aiming for the top prizes. If they’re going to charge at us… Then Johnny, look ‘em straight in the eye and challenge ‘em to a Pokemon, if they fail to comply with the rules in the handbook, well just shoot ‘em with yer gun! I’ll take the one on the right!’ Gyro yelled.

   He was about to charge at them, his fingertips grazed the top of one of his PokeBalls, but something stopped him. A shooting pain pierced through the entirety of his foot; from beneath the sole straight through the flesh. He looked down, bit back the pain, and saw two claws penetrating his foot

   ‘What the…?’

   It would appear that the Pokemon battle had started the moment Andre had dropped his PokeBall under the suffocation induced stupor.


	18. VS THE BOOM BOOM FAMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boom Boom family continue to attack and make plans against Johnny, Gyro, and Mountain Tim.

  ‘What happened - your foot?’ Johnny yelled.

   Gyro gripped his leg, gritted his teeth. He looked as though he were resisting the urge to buckle beneath his own weight.

   The other two members of the Boom Boom family drew in closer yet. Their precious Andre remained passed out by the rock. The belt around his neck had loosened, he no longer foamed at the mouth. It was not obvious if he were alive or dead. He did not appear to breathe or twitch even slightly.

   ‘Gyro, what is that?’ Johnny asked.

   Gyro cussed under his breath. ‘The pain’s incredible, these claws - I think they’re claws - feel just like steel. Damn, it’s getting worse with every second… I think this might be a Pokemon belonging to that goddamn Andre Boom Boom.’

   ‘Shit…’ Johnny murmured. The gun in his hand weighed heavy as he considered it. ‘If that is Andre Boom Boom’s Pokemon then that’s unlawful attacking of a Trainer… we have every right to use this gun if that’s the truth.’

   ‘Here they come!’ Gyro yelled. ‘Just take the left; I’ve got the right, you hear me? Don’t let them come any closer!’

   Gyro yelped suddenly, surprised by the pulling out of whatever had pierced his foot. Blood dripped from his open wounds. His breathing became uneven and he carefully eyed the ground for signs of movement. He was certain something lurked right beneath his feet but he wasn’t sure what it was.

   The sound of scrabbling burst through. Johnny screamed and Gyro was attacked from behind his time. He felt harsh scratches rake across his back. He counted four claws. Four claws. What did that mean?

   He turned around and his attacker had fled already. His shirt was in ribbons; as was his skin. More blood dripped from his wounds.

   ‘Did you see that, Johnny?’

   ‘Yeah. It… It was a Sandslash. And it dove back into the ground; it could be anywhere now.’

   The Boom Booms came closer still.

   ‘Brother’s not moving; do you think he cleaned his wounds from that Foongus yet?’

   ‘God, you’ve been noisy for a while!’

   As they moved in closer still, bickering began to emerge between the father-son duo.

   ‘And L.A., how long’re you gonna stick to my ass? I told you to stick to the other side of those guys for our plan. Go in from both sides, that was the plan! God, you’re slow; just like your mother! Just like that stupid woman who left to become a whore!’

   ‘Our… Our mother was a Swanna, right? Big Brother said so. Our mother was a Swanna; do I look like a Swanna to you?’

   ‘Oh shut up!’ his father screamed as they split off to begin a pincer attack. ‘Just go and get around those other guys!’

   The certain attack from the other Boom Boom family members was one thing. They could be seen and therefore, they could be attacked. However, it was that Sandslash that was messing up Gyro.

   ‘Shit, I can’t tell who’s the best for this situation.’ Johnny growled.

   ‘Well you pick now before your Zebstrika gets it.’ Gyro cocked a brash smirk as he picked out a PokeBall. ‘But be ready to use that gun at moment’s notice.’

   ‘I - I know.’ Johnny replied.

   He still didn’t like how it felt in his hands. It was bulky and awkward. He didn’t have much experience with guns so it was intimidating. Johnny reached into his pack stowed on the side of his Zebstrika’s saddle and he made a choice. There was one ground type, one electric type, and two fire types at play: he would simply have to hope for good type coverage and something to complement whatever Gyro was two seconds away from tossing out.

   ‘Go, go, Squealer!’ Gyro yelled.

   There was a pulsing fury to how he threw out this PokeBall and Johnny just knew it was going to be good. He just knew he could put a lot of faith in Gyro.

   From his Spin-infused PokeBall, came a Furret. A cute and goofy looking Furret but if it belonged to Gyro then it was probably more of a threat than its adorable exterior made it seem. Or so Johnny hoped. Maybe the blood loss was screwing with Gyro’s sense for planning.

   ‘Tomb of the Boom!’ yelled Benjamin Boom Boom.

   He tossed out a PokeBall and a tiny, wiggling-jiggling Ditto began to waddle towards the battle.

   ‘Transform!’ Benjamin Boom Boom yelled.

   His Ditto transformed into the spitting image of Gyro’s Furret.

   Gyro gritted his teeth. ‘Squealer, use Hyper Beam!’

   ‘Tomb, use Hyper Beam!

   Furret and Ditto were in perfect synchronicity with each other. Both acting like a mirror of each; almost impossible tell them apart, save for that blank, uncharacteristic smile upon the transformed Ditto’s face. Both Pokemon opened their mouths and orange energy concentrated atop their tongues. The energy burst forth into a powerful beam.

   Ditto changed back to its regular form. Furret’s attack missed as it had aimed for a creature its own height. Furret took on the other hyper Beam, straight to its thick furred chest. It chattered and most of its health was knocked out.

   Gyro gritted his teeth and glared. ‘Return, Squealer!’ he decided.

   He refused to let his Furret faint, he’d give it time to recuperate in its PokeBall. He thrust out his arm and his Furret was snatched up by a silvery light. It returned to its green, steely PokeBall. So far this turn had been a bust.

   Johnny glanced at Gyro. ‘Gyro, you’re wounds are getting worse. And… And Squealer, what should we do?’

   ‘I know, it’s fine.’

   Benjamin and L.A Boom Boom encircled Johnny and Gyro. Their mounts picked up speed and with that Sandslash lurking, Johnny and Gyro were effectively trapped.

   ‘First place is Dad, second place is Big Brother Andre, and third place is me. It’ll be a one-two-three finish. The prize money total will be big! Really big!’ L.A Boom Boom sang as he rode. ‘Um, how do you add them up again?’

   ‘60, 100, 000, 000, you idiot!’ his father screamed at him.

   ‘These guys don’t look like much but they’re completely different from that Mrs Robinson fellow.’ Gyro said, his voice a low growl.

  There was a groggy moan and it was followed by footsteps. Andre Boom Boom had woken up and already, he mounted his Zebstrika. He was quick to join the fray but he couldn’t have been in a good headspace after all.

   ‘Brother Andre! Big Brother came to; he beat the poison!’ his precocious, younger brother cried out joyously as Andre rode next to him.

   ‘Gyro, you’re still bleeding, this is serious, we need to do something.’ Johnny pointed out.

   ‘I know, I think I’m growing faint but I’m fine. We’ll win this battle, I swear.’ Gyro replied. He really didn’t need Johnny pointing out the obvious right now.

   His eyes followed the dust trails that were being kicked up in the wake of the two encircling Rapidash and the one Zebstrika. That Sandslash hadn’t shown up again yet either.

   ‘Hey yo, L.A., can you do this?’ Andre asked.

   His brother turned his head curiously, bright-eyed, and watched as Andre performed a neat little party trick. He inhaled deeply and his nostrils flattened against each other until they seemed two-dimensional.

   ‘Whoa! That’s awesome!’ L.A. crooned. ‘How do you do that? Can you show me to do that?’

   ‘Duuuumbass!’ Andre teased. ‘I won’t tell you, you wouldn’t be able to do it if you had your whole life to learn!’

   He turned his head and performed the same trick on his ear, just to further rub in his talent in his little brother’s face. Though it only served to further impress L.A. rather than anything else except further inflate Andre’s sense of superiority and ego too. However, their father was unamused by his son’s antics. He called out to them in a vicious, rasping voice.

   ‘Hey, you guys! Who is going to close in and finish these guys? Or am I gonna have to do it?’ he yelled.

   Andre shook his head. He seemed to have healed from his near strangulation. His demeanour totally changed from when he was teasing his brother. His demeanour totally changed from earlier when he had come across as so utterly pathetic. Now, he seemed to be a threat.

   ‘The guy on the Zebstrika… he hasn’t used any Pokemon yet, not to mention he’s got a gun.’ Andre pointed out.  

   ‘That guy is too much of a wimp to pull the trigger on us and he’s cowardly enough to be letting his injured friend do all the heavy lifting, he ain’t a threat!’ Benjamin yelled.

   Johnny frowned but he couldn’t dispute it. He was hesitating over both his gun and his PokeBalls. He was afraid. A wimp, a coward. It was true. Very true.

   ‘Then I’ll go, Dad.’ Andre decided, resolute. ‘Those guys didn’t give me any fire right away. I was this close to having the poison circulate my whole body… I’m gonna get my revenge!’

   Gyro straightened up. He seemed unaffected by his wounds. Having tested the waters, he knew better now than to underestimate these foes. He unclipped a PokeBall from his belt. It spun in the palm of his hand. He seemed strangely calm as he stared out and assessed his opponent.

   ‘Oh good, he’s got another PokeBall ready. It’ll be a fair fight then.’ Andre commented sarcastically.

   He laughed. He had an oddly sinister laugh for his appearance. His father joined in as well but L.A. mostly stared dumbly, wondering what the joke was.

   ‘It’ll just be the same result though.’ L.A. said. ‘Between the three of us, we have very powerful Pokemon.’

   ‘Go, go, Mean Streak!’ Gyro yelled.

   He tossed out his PokeBall as far as it could go. It would seem that his Krookodile was not even going to appear on the battlefield.

   ‘It’s not gonna reach, dumbass!’ Andre yelled.

   ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’ Gyro said. He smiled, flashed those tacky teeth of his. ‘My Mean Streak’s a smart critter.’

   His Krookodile wasn’t even in the vicinity of the battle. It used its tail to bat its PokeBall back to Gyro. Much like their enemies, Johnny was questioning Gyro’s sanity and judgement.

   Then, Gyro’s Krookodile dived into the ground. It scraped up grass and dirt as it went. Much like a fish would navigate water, it navigated the underground.

   ‘In fact, they say Pokemon take after Trainers. I bet that Sandslash is gonna have a hard time tracking down my little Mean Streak unless it goes for me in which case…’ Gyro mimicked a gun and pretended to shoot the ground.

   Johnny brandished his gun to strengthen the bluff. Unless Gyro was one hundred percent counting on him to shoot if that Sandslash was to pop up. He swallowed and his eyes searched frantically. He tried to train himself to hear every quiet noise but it was useless. Then, he heard it: the breach of earth.

   But it wasn’t close to him. It wasn’t from Andre’s Sandslash.

   It was from Gyro’s Krookodile.

   From beneath the ground, its claws slashed through. It grabbed onto the legs of Andre’s Zebstrika and pulled it down. Great clumps of dirt and grass were freed. Andre was thrown off his mount. Gyro’s Krookodile roared. Andre’s head spun. And so did his Zebstrika’s, it would appear that it had been a super effective one hit knockout.

   ‘Whoa, what an impressive hit.’ Johnny gawked.

   ‘Johnny, get your stuff on your Zebstrika, we have to leave this place. There’s two of these guys and neither of us’re in any condition to fight.’ Gyro said.

  Gyro hardened himself for his next command. Johnny fussed around as quick as he could. Gyro tried to buy him more time. To be fair, Gyro had copped probably a Crush Claw from that damn Sandslash, wherever it was, so it was only a necessity at this point to level the playing field; even if it did break a few rules. But hey, eye for an eye in Gyro’s opinion.

   ‘Mean Streak, use Rock Smash!’ Gyro yelled.

   His Krookodile pummelled Andre. With fists forceful enough to break rocks, Krookodile did more than puncture Andre’s skin. It punched straight through his torso and carved a bloody hole. He screamed and screamed in straight horror.

   Gyro glanced over his shoulder and saw that Johnny was good to go. He returned his Krookodile to its PokeBall. Satisfied, it was time for them to flee. He and Johnny then high-tailed it out of there whilst the Boom Boom family regrouped. They sussed out Andre’s wound and began making new plans.

   ‘Shiiit, shiiit!’ Andre screamed as he clamped his hand over his gaping wound.

   L.A. drew in closer, concerned but scared.

   ‘Ah, God, it hurts! That bastard!’

   ‘There’s a hole in Brother Andre’s stomach… Whoa! It’s bigger than your belly button!’ L.A. screeched.

   Their father screamed insults at the behinds of Johnny and Gyro’s mounts. He drew out his own pistol and began firing shots into the distance. Unfortunately, they all missed but it helped clear his mind; quell his fury. Now, he could think properly, at the very least.

   ‘Ugh, what shitheads…’ he murmured.

   Benjamin drew in closer. ‘Oi, lemme see your wound.’

   ‘I - I think I’m gonna die, Dad!’ Andre screamed.

   It ain’t that big, I’ve had worse. When I was young, I fell off a cliff once. Tore off my lower jaw and I walked back home. Drink some whiskey and put a bandage on it if yer that worried.’

   ‘Argh, but that bastard! I’ll get my revenge of him!’ yelled Andre.

   ‘Yeah, we’ll finish them. We’ll kill them and we’ll reach the next waterhole faster than anyone else. If we get there first, we can destroy it and the other racers who come by next won’t have any drinking water so they’ll be wiped out!’

   His loud voice dissolved into insane laughter. He seemed drunk on the idea of such power in the race. Andre found his own voice crackling with laughter despite the pain. Once more, L.A. stared and was uncertain of the joke. But, he was more concerned by what they ought to do about Johnny and Gyro.

   ‘Hey,’ he piped up, unsurely, ‘how’re we gonna catch up to those guys? Those two’re popular candidates for Champion. We’re attacking them like because we don’t stand a chance head on, right? What’re we gonna do?’

   ‘Oh look, the family smart ass has made a comment.’ his father snarled.

   Andre tutted.

   L.A. whimpered having embarrassed himself.

   Benjamin turned his head and his lips upturned into a slash-like grin. ‘Who said anything about chasing them?’

   ‘Huh?’ L.A. piped up.  

   Benjamin chucked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the inky distance.

   ‘We’ll let the guy chasing us chase those two bastards, Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar.’

   ‘Huh? Behind us?’ L.A. mumbled, eyes widening.

   He turned around in his saddle and tried to squint through the trees. But it useless. All he could see was darkness and smudged shapes. Benjamin laughed cynically at his son’s stupidity.

   ‘Who is it? Who’s behind us? I can’t seem them.’ L.A. asked questions like a vapid child. It was seriously annoying.

   ‘We’ve had this guy following us fer a while now. Out of the three thousand racers, there’s someone who found our hoofprints and have been tracking us since morning. But I knew all about it!’ Benjamin crooned.

    ‘You mean he noticed our hoofprints and pinned ‘em to us? Out of three thousands mounts? Can such a man exist?’ L.A. asked.

   ‘He does. I can’t just seem him from here, he’s really good at hiding. If I had to guess, this guy is probably a sheriff or something. But more likely than not, might be another Trainer, one buddy-buddy with the local sheriff though and there is such a guy. So, we’re probably bein’ tracked by that fuckin’ Mountain Tim.’ Benjamin reasoned.

   ‘Mountain Tim?’ Andre echoed, almost scandalised.

   ‘Ain’t he the one who came fourth? The cowboy everyone looks up to, they call him!’ L.A. gasped.

   ‘And we’re gonna use him against those bastards. It’ll be one stone, two birds. Mountain Tim will leave us alone and Zeppeli and Joestar will be disqualified from the race. Genius!’ Benjamin said.

   He stuck his grotty fingers in his mouth and whistled. With sloshing noises, his Ditto returned to his side.

   ‘Oi, you, up here.’ he commanded it.

   His Ditto slunk up the leg of his Rapidash. It pulled itself up by stretching itself out until it finally wound itself around its Trainer’s face. It began to stretch unnaturally around his Trainer, encasing him in the goop that was its body. Slowly, a new face was formed in the pink membrane.

   ‘Wh-What are you planning to do to Mountain Tim, Dad?’ L.A. asked.

   Andre grunted. L.A. didn’t avert his eyes. Watching Ditto mould and remould itself and their father was grotesque. Andre’s grunts turned to chuckles as the new face solidified.

   ‘I think I get what Dad’s thinking.’ he nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s a surefire way of doin’ it!’

   ‘We’ll eliminate everyone in our way: the Boom Boom Family will be the leaders of the race! No one’ll stand in our way; we’ll haunt our enemies like boogeymen!’ Benjamin declared.

   His body ceased morphing. He looked like a completely different person.

   It was time to further set plans into motion. Andre and L.A. made themselves scarce whilst Benjamin turned himself into the bait.

   A lantern, yellowy, swung through the darkness. In its stead, came Mountain Tim on the back of his Tauros. He investigated the ground as he went. Grass curled back up from once being trodden on. In scant stretches of dirt, a recognisable set of tracks wound through.

   In this part of the forest, there was a lot of trees and rocks but most curiously, there was a thick spread of bramble and briar laden with thorns weaving through strangled trees. Mountain Tim was quiet. He heard the whinny of some Pokemon, soft but not scared, and the rustle of something else. Something more akin to that of a human. He blew out his lantern and wandered closer to the bramble. It was dark and shadowy beneath its branches which made it a good hiding spot for anyone who didn’t want to be found.

   Mountain Tim decided to address it despite the chance that he was just addressing some baby Deerling or something. He cleared his throat and began formalities. But further down, he saw a Rapidash wearing a saddle. It didn’t seem stranded, per se, but it didn’t seem like it wanted to be there. That was pretty solid evidence that a Trainer was hiding here.

   ‘Under the laws of the Driftveil City township and wider Unova laws, I have been inducted as an assistant sheriff. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of three contestants in the Steel Ball Run race. Show your hands and slowly get out there.’ Mountain Tim said.

   He drew out a piece of rope. He coiled it tightly and brandished it with a great crack. In his hands, it sounded more menacing than a whip.

   ‘Depending on the situation, I have the right to execution.’ he threatened.

   Shuffling on his knees, the person reared around and came out of thicket very slowly with his hands up. Mountain Tim continued to order him.

   ‘Alright, turn this way - don’t lower your hands!’

   With the hood over his head, it was hard to see him but when he finally revealed himself, Mountain Tim was sickened to his stomach. His eyes widened but he tried not to let his shock be known. He hadn’t expected this of that person. 

   ‘I remember you… You were fifth place…’ Mountain Tim said.

   Blonde hair beneath a beanie, blue eyes and blue lips, kind of a small guy: Mountain Tim didn’t doubt. That was Johnny Joestar… but wasn’t he registered with  Zebstrika? If he was, then that was another reason he would be disqualified from the race. Albeit, considering the murder charges, it was something of a petty reason.

   With a sudden flick of his wrist, the perpetrator flung out a horseshoe. Mountain Tim calmly reined it in with a tricky manoeuvre of his rope. It looped around the midsection of a horseshoe and he yanked it back. With a disdainful look on his face, Mountain Tim authorised more force since he, Johnny Joestar, wasn’t going down without a fist fight.

   In the time it took to distract him, Joestar had crawled further into the thicket. Mountain Tim sighed, exasperated.

   ‘What you trying to do?’ he called out. ‘Don’t think about doing anything stupid! The chase ends here, I’d like to concentrate on the race.’

   Mountain Tim chose a PokeBalls from off his belt.

   ‘Here goes nothin’... Oh Lonesome Me, I choose you. Help me nab this fool.’ Mountain Tim said.

   The PokeBall opened slightly and his signature partner, his Simisage, sprung out.

   ‘Use Vine Whip.’ he instructed.

   His Simisage flung its arm forward. From its wrists, two thick vines unravelled. Simisage manipulated them as one might swing rope. With the utmost precision, it was able to grab hold of Joestar by his neck. Joestar clawed at the rope. Simisage tugged back. Joestar moved slightly.

   He gave up on struggling, briefly, before popping a knife.

   ‘Dammit, don’t hurt yourself, Lonesome.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Sage!’

   His Simisage frowned. It continued to try and wrangle in Joestar but he was quickly whittling away at the vines Simisage had already swung forward. Simisage attempted to distract him with Bullet Seed - just as a scare tactic - but Joestar continued on unafraid.

   The vines snapped and dropped to the ground. Joestar continued into the deeper parts of the thickets. Mountain Tim surveyed the area. The mountain range grew in close here, hence all the rocks, which likely meant there were strange drop-offs. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was one hiding behind the thicket, hence why Joestar had elected to hide there. Still, something was off about this.

   ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it Lonesome, we’ll catch him. Still, I knew him. That was Johnny Joestar. Didn’t realise he had the gall to kill one man, let alone three. I’m surprised he’s the murderer.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Simi-saage.’ his Simisage chimed in.

   As Benjamin Boom Boom fled, his disguise fell off. His Ditto peeled itself off his skin and he morphed back to normal. That too was quite a terrifying process as well as great chunks of his body, of his skin, seemed to drop off before discolouring to a fleshy pink and become whole as Ditto again.

   Snickering, Benjamin met up with his sons.

   ‘Hey Andre, L.A., alright, that should keep that prick Mountain Tim busy. He’ll be chasing after Johnny Joestar now. And when they all meet up, they’ll all take each other out in a battle royale. Anyone left, we take out: easy as pie!’


	19. VS COBALION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A divine and just Pokemon intervenes.

  Gyro’s condition had improved somewhat over the course of the three hours they had fled for. Well, his bleeding had stopped and there was no pain. The scratches in his back were a lot shallower than they feared. He hadn’t dressed any of his wounds yet so he would have to pay a lot of medical attention to himself later. But for now, he and Johnny had to get to later.

   They raced through the night, keep a hasty eye on that who stalked them. Johnny kept glancing back through the darkness, looking down the barrel of a telescope as he did sweeping scans.

   ‘Can you see the rest of the Boom Boom family? Or is it still just that one guy?’ Gyro asked; his voice rasped.

   ‘No, still that one guy following alone.’ Johnny called back.

   Gyro was racing ahead of Johnny but he was keeping great pace. He had been for the whole of the time they had been fleeing.

   ‘Our mounts’re at their limits.’ Gyro huffed.

   Johnny steadied his telescope. ‘I just had a thought.’ he said. ‘This riding style… I’ve seen it before and not from the Boom Booms, it’s too professional, so to speak.’

   Gyro turned back to Johnny and gave him a screwed-up expression that bared his teeth.

   ‘But who else would want to chase us?’ he asked. ‘And at this time of night?’

   He swung back around. He and Johnny continued onwards, faces straight ahead.

   ‘We need to get to the next waterhole or this whole thing’ll be a filthy mess! And we still have fifteen k’s to go!’ Gyro yelled, mostly out of pent-up bitterness.

   Their mounts were beginning to put puffs of complaints in their voices as they breathed. Their movements began to slow. It would appear the fatigue of yesterday still ate away at them; not to mention all the travelling they had done today. No wonder they were beginning to slow. But, apparently, their pursuer’s mount still had plenty of energy. Having noticed Gyro and Johnny were slowing, he speeded up.

   ‘Shit,’ Gyro muttered as he tossed his head over his shoulder again, ‘we’re not goin’ to avoid a battle, I think.’

   ‘Then what’re we gonna do? We really need to get you patched up still. And your Furret, it’s fainted right?’ Johnny said.

   ‘We’ve gotta lose him somehow!’ Gyro decided. ‘We can’t let him get any closer to us. In this forest, at night, this bloke’s gotta have a fucked-up reason for chasing us!’

   That person continued to close in on Johnny and Gyro. Their panic channeled into their mounts unwittingly and that led to hesitation and doubt; further opportunity for their pursuer to close the distance. Until he was close enough to be recognised by the brow of his Zebstrika patterned clothes; even in the dim of the night, such a gaudy pattern was easy to discern.

   It was Mountain Tim.

   Why was he after them?

   But the way Gyro saw it, that was a good thing. A guy like him, a wholesome Unovan cowboy through and through, would understand the situation. Gyro smirked, became overconfident, and blissfully unaware of the plans Benjamin Boom Boom had placed into action. Gyro yanked the reins back and his Mudsdale reared back onto its hind legs. It’s sudden halt meant that Johnny’s Zebstrika almost collided but it was smart enough to have read the signs. Now, it had reared back.

   ‘What the fuck, Gyro?’ yelled Johnny.

   ‘Change o’ plans, Johnny, we fight!’ Gyro declared with an add of that obnoxious laugh for good measure.

   He steered his Mudsdale around but remained where he was. No point in wasting his energy if Mountain Tim was coming straight at them. Johnny growled but he followed Gyro’s lead. His Zebstrika stroked angrily at the ground once it had been re-positioned in the opposite direction.

   Mountain Tim, on the back of his Tauros, sauntered in close enough to be heard.

   ‘I’m glad you reconsidered things, Joestar!’ he called out. ‘Realised it was useless to run away.’

   ‘Run away?’ Johnny murmured.

   ‘What’s he goin’ on about?’ Gyro muttered.

   He drew in closer still. His eyes flared as he made eye contact with them both from the twenty metres or so between them.

   ‘Our eyes’ve met, in the laws of this here race handbook, that means a battle is to start. Resist or misbehave and I’m in every right to kill on sight.’ Mountain Tim informed them both.

   From a ridge on the giant outcrops of rock, the Boom Boom family observed the tense situation unfolding between Mountain Tim and his supposed murderer and his partner. The three of them were positively gleeful about it; snickering and beaming. They scrabbled at the ground, trying to draw in closer for a better look.

   ‘I knew we could rely on that Mountain Tim!’ Benjamin exclaimed as he excitedly gripped a pair of binoculars. ‘It’s perfect, they’ll knock each other out of competition perfectly. Mountain Tim for unlawful arrest and the other two pricks for resisting arrest. Assuming they don’t wind up killin’ each other first.’

   His sons grinned and laughed with him over it.

   L.A. bounced where he stood. ‘Daddy, let’s go get in closer! I wanna see it all up close; just in case it gets bloody!’

   ‘Yeah!’ Benjamin yelled back, equally excited by the prospect of bloodlust.

   Andre sprawled out on the ground. He clutched his stomach. He had been standing a moment ago but he had buckled beneath his own weight. He grasped at the grass.

   ‘I’m kinda… getting chills.’ he moaned. ‘And everythin’ is blurry… I don’t think I’ alright.’

   ‘Chills?’ he father echoed, almost disgusted. ‘Oh toughen up, it ain’t that big a deal. You still alive, ain’t ya?’

   As they edged in closer to the where the battle should be taking place, a stalemate of sorts had emerged.

   ‘Johnny Joestar, tell me, what’s the name of the Rapidash you own? Why aren’t you riding it?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   There was a pleasantly placid drawl to his voice; like he wanted to genuinely understand the position that Johnny was in. He juggled a sole PokeBall in his hand and kept his other hand draped over his weapons holstered to his hip: a gun, some rope, and a whip.

   ‘You own a Rapidash, Johnny? Yeah, why aren’t you riding it?’ Gyro asked. ‘Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier for ya to ride it instead of that there Zebstrika, nasty thing it was at that ranch. Almost killed you half a dozen times.’

   ‘I don’t own a Rapidash.’ Johnny said. ‘Why’re you asking?’

   Mountain Tim inhaled deeply. He gripped tightly onto his PokeBall once it landed in his palm again. He moved his other hand to his hip. A thoughtful expression moulded his strong features.

   ‘You know what, Joestar. I believe you.’ he decided.

   ‘Thanks?’ Johnny supposed.

   ‘In fact, I’m starting to think I’ve got this whole situation backwards. You don’t seem like the type to kill a man, let alone three. I think some sort of deception is at play here.’ Mountain Tim nodded.

   ‘Wait, what? Me, kill three men?!’ Johnny yelled.

   ‘There’s been three murders during the race and I think I’ve been led astray by someone else’s devious plans.’ Mountain Tim explained.

    ‘I’ve had Johnny up my ass this whole race, he definitely didn’t ill anyone.’ Gyro said.

   ‘Thanks, Gyro.’ Johnny huffed.

   ‘But unfortunately, that doesn’t make everything hunky-dory. The real killer is still at large. And we still have to battle though; if we don’t want to play this race in foul, of course.’ Mountain Tim continued.

   ‘We’ll make it real quick, nyo ho, ‘cause I reckon your real killer is real close and has a stupid fucking Ditto.’ Gyro’s voice turned into a growl despite his chortle; still peeved about having his Furret faint at the hands of Benjamin apparently.

   ‘A Ditto, you reckon? That’d certainly explain some things.’ Mountain Tim stroked his chin.

   ‘What’re we gonna do? I know you ain’t gonna ditch this battle.’ Johnny said. ‘And we can’t just stand around with our dicks in our hands.’

   The Boom Booms watched in wretched horror. As they waited and waited for Pokemon to be sent out in battle, they were able to listen in on the conversation. Their deceptions had been unravelled and now Mountain Tim was back on track to finding the real killer.

   ‘Shit, what are we gonna do?’ Benjamin muttered.

   ‘The only thing we can do.’ L.A. decided, resolute.

   Back on the field, the stalemate continued to thicken. It was the only thing they could do either. They couldn’t leave because they were trapped by the rulebook and were apparently all to honourable to hope to get away with leaving a locked Trainer battle. So, all they could do was wait and listen in closely to the sounds of nature; for the sound of someone that shouldn’t be there.

   ‘All we gotta do is beat the shit outta of those creeps the moment we see ‘em.’ Gyro decided.

   ‘There’s no need for that.’ L.A. said.

   He tossed out of PokeBall but nothing seemed to appear. There was a splash of silver light and then nothingness. Did he have some invisible Pokemon?

   But then a sandstorm picked up. It whirled and raged. Gyro pulled down his goggles, not that they offered the best protection, whilst Johnny and Mountain Tim raised their arms to protect their faces. A rumble emerged from thin air and that rumble turned to a fearsome grunt. Rising from the ground, in a heap of shifting sands, came a Hippowdon.

   ‘You know, it’s not very polite to remain mounted whilst a battle is taking place, Three, use Earthquake!’

   ‘Johnny, shit, protect Zebstrika; don’t let it faint!’ Gyro yelled just as L.A. finished his order for his Hippowdon.

   ‘You don’t have to te- aaah!’

   The ground beneath them shook violently. Trees rustled, one was even felled. Mudsdale and Tauros whinnied and grunted but were ultimately fine. Mudsdale had resisted it quite well and Mountain Tim’s Tauros was a healthy beastie. Gyro and Mountain were thrown from their mounts, just as L.A. had obviously planned, but were also ultimately fine. The damage they had taken wasn’t crucial.They got up with minor scratches but Johnny and Zebstrika were a completely different story. Johnny was thrown to the ground. He had landed hands first so they stung but now that he was on the ground, he was basically rendered immobile. Then there was his Zebstrika. It had taken a terrible hit. Most of its health was completely sapped.

   Johnny got up and Zebstrika padded towards him. He reached for his bag and yanked it down. He was able to heal Zebstrika with some potions but still, another hit like that and Zebstrika would faint and he would be out of the race because he didn’t have a mount. He gritted his teeth, infuriated by the situation.

   Through the howling winds and flying grains of sand, a second figure approached L.A.

   ‘Ya know, three on one ain’t very fair.’ Benjamin drawled. ‘Tomb of the Boom, Royal Flush!’

   Two PokeBalls were hurled into the swirling sandstorm. From them, appeared a Ditto and a Skarmory.

   ‘Tomb, use Transform, turn into Hippowdon!’ Benjamin yelled.

   Mountain Tim and Gyro prepared a PokeBall each. Johnny was still scrabbling with his own things. His hands were pretty roughed up from falling on them. However, Benjamin was not going to give any of his opponents for the opportunity for a fair battle.

   ‘Royal Flush, use Air Slash! Tomb, use Earthquake!’

   Johnny finally managed to pull out a PokeBall but the idea of letting his Zebstrika faint chilled him to the bone so he let go of PokeBall and grabbed some berries instead. He hoped, he begged, that a Shuca Berry would be among them. He yanked out his hand from his bag and he could have cried tears of joy. Among the slightly crushed berries in his hand was on that was a soft, bulbous, yellow berry.

   ‘Eat!’ he yelled at his Zebstrika.

   And just in time too, Benjamin’s Pokemon made their move.

   ‘Elizabeth!’ Mountain Tim’s voice was cut off. His hand let go of his PokeBall but in the midst of the sandstorm, it was unknown if had opened.

   Gyro didn’t have a chance either.

   Both men and their mounts were assailed by the onslaught of attacks. The Skarmory whom Benjamin called “Royal Flush” attacked first. It fluttered its slat-like wings of steel and sent cutting waves of air towards Mountain Tim. Mountain Tim’s skin was cut by the air and he was forced backwards. His head knocked against a tree and he fell to the ground. He his lolled forward and he appeared unconscious.

   The Ditto, now transformed into a second, mighty Hippowdon, went next. With a great grunt, the ground underfoot began to tremble. Gyro’s Mudsdale brayed but stayed strong due to having a type resistance to the attack. Gyro, however, was thrown from where he stood. He collided with Johnny and his injured foot twisted strangely. Gyro muttered out of pain. He tried to get up, off of Johnny, but it was useless. The Earthquake kept them both pinned.

    Mountain Tim was tossed about like a rag doll despite being a big and burly man. He must have been truly out of it. His bleeding worsened. Meanwhile, his Tauros did its best to fair against the attack but once the thunderous shaking came to a delayed halt, it seemed ready to drop to the ground and faint. But still, it valiantly stayed up and toughed out the hit.

   ‘Heh, I knew it’d be too dangerous for you to battle ‘em alone but look. Now we can make a clean escape. They’re left for dead with these injuries.’ Benjamin smirked. ‘Do you feel blessed? We’re such a blessed family.’

   ‘I can feel it, Daddy! We really are such a blessed family!’ L.A. agreed excitedly.

   ‘Fuck…’ Gyro muttered. ‘I can’t get up, I’m too injured.’

   ‘It’s okay, we’ll figure something out.’ Johnny said.

   He tried to push back at Gyro, help him get to his feet but from this squashed angle, it was useless. Not to mention that Gyro was being purposefully unresponsive.

   ‘I’ve already got something worked out.’ Gyro hissed. ‘Do you have a free hand, Johnny?’

   ‘Yeah?’

   ‘Good, good, what about that cork? And can you reach it?’

   ‘Yes to both.’

   ‘Okay Johnny, here’s the plan…’ Gyro’s voice quietened so that only Johnny could hear. ‘You only get one chance, unless you can find a rock in front of you, but you’re gonna have to use the Spin to knock both these assholes straight out.’

   ‘What?! I can’t do that!’ Johnny hissed. ‘It… it was only a coincidence last time!’

   ‘Johnny, you have to. Lesson three: believe in the Spin, trust the rotation, I know you can do it. Johnny, you must!’

   Mountain Tim’s head drew back and his eyes fluttered open. ‘Elizabeth.’ his voice was groggy and his PokeBall rolled off his palm. He was determined to unleash whatever Pokemon was inside of that PokeBall.

   There was a silver flash and then the sandstorm eased off.

   ‘Huh? What’s going on?’ L.A. said. ‘Three’s Sand Stream shouldn’t have worn off yet!’

   ‘Golduck!’

   ‘Johnny, now’s your chance, whilst their distracted thanks to Mountain Tim!’ Gyro urged Johnny.

   The sandstorm cleared up. Johnny dug through his pockets and found the cork. He ignored the fact that it had been up his Zebstrika’s anus but was thankful it was dry, unlike before. His heart hammered. He was completely uncertain of himself. The last time he had managed to get that cork to spin, it had been an accident and an unruly one at that.

   Right now, in this instance, there wasn’t much room for a mistake. Gyro was putting a lot of faith in his thoroughly untrained student. But still, Johnny resolved. He placed the cork on his fingers and he concentrated. That’s why he had signed up to this race, after all. It was so he could master the Spin. If he didn’t do it now, it would all end here.

   ‘Hurry, Johnny!’ Gyro yelled.

   The cork began to move. At first, it was weak and unbalanced but the more focused Johnny became, the more violently it moved. But, it began to move as he wanted. It wasn’t straying off course or anything similar. It was behaving within Johnny’s control. It was spinning within his control.

   His eyes widened and johnny couldn’t hold it back. He was utterly elated by this development.

   ‘Gyro, it’s spinning!’ he yelled.

   Then, a foot stomped on his arm. Before he could even get the chance to shoot. Loathing over his own stupidity swamped Johnny. If only he had kept his mouth shut. He didn’t even want to a hear peep from Gyro over this. He knew it was his own fault.

   Benjamin stamped down on Johnny’s arm a tad more. He snickered as he did so.

   ‘I’m sorry, Gyro, I couldn’t do it.’ Johnny muttered.

   ‘Step back, a little L.A. and don’t even think about relaxing. Be careful, the dying make some desperate moves.’ Benjamin warned.

   ‘I couldn’t…’ Johnny became choked up.

   It seemed so utterly hopeless. There were no desperate moves to made. Unless Gyro could get up but his foot injury seemed terrible. But even in the midst of such thick despair, a miracle made itself known with a noble roar. A roar that caused the trees to curl as though in a curtsey. A roar that made the silence deafening.

   ‘What was that?’ Benjamin asked.

   ‘Wha… What the hell?’ L.A. yelled.

   He began pointing at something in the distance. Heavy footsteps made themselves known. There was a second roar: a noise filled with unearthly majesty, as though some divine being had heralded its own arrival. The footsteps drew closer in. Then, there was the third roar.

   The third roar was the loudest of them all. It instilled a deep reverence in the deepest parts of the soul. The noise of it awoke Mountain Tim and tears dripped from his eyes as the sound of it. The creature finally made itself known.

   No one had seen a Pokemon like it but it matched the description of a mythic Pokemon that made its home the deepest parts of the mountain range next to this forest. It was a tall creature: it loomed above them all. It bore a coat of cobalt blue, thick with a fluffy chest. From its head, it had horns the colour of spun gold and seemed to be like a pair of thunderbolts. It had such serious eyes.

   ‘What the hell is that? Is it… common to the area?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Stars, no… that’s… that’s a legendary… I - I didn’t even think it was real.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Cobalion… one of the Swords of the Justice. My word, never thought I’d see it in the flesh.’ Mountain Tim added.

   ‘Cobalion... ‘ Johnny murmured, enchanted by the beast.

   It was gorgeous. In the starlight, it seemed to gleam. Never before had Johnny - had any of these men - ever seen a more ethereal creature. It strode towards them. It strode towards Johnny and Gyro. Johnny was scared but he reached out. He was terrified, sweating bullets, but he reached out.

   Cobalion let him stroke its leg. Its fur was coarse and it felt similar to iron filings. It wasn’t unpleasant though.

   ‘...Use Swords Dance.’ Johnny said.

   ‘Coba…’

   Cobalion turned around and let a proud noise burst from its mouth.It stomped down and a great energy burst forth. The energy spun around it and Cobalion’s attack stat was raised sharply. It grunted, pawed at the ground. It signalled that this was now its fight also.

   And it was championing Johnny.

   But that seemed so… extraordinarily unlikely. A Pokemon like Cobalion - a beautiful, mythical legendary - would not see worth in Johnny but he was desperate. He was certain he was dreaming but he was certain he would continue on. He would take this chance, s bizarre and unlikely as it seemed.

   He licked his lips. Was Cobalion awaiting his orders or was he imagining it? What moves would it know, anyway?

   What was that story? Childhood stories, bastardised versions of true folklore, seemed so far away now even though he was only nineteen.

   ‘Use, um… uh… Sacred Sword on Ditto!’ he yelled.

   ‘What the hell, Johnny?’ Gyro asked.

   Mountain Tim made a noise which seemed to imply he was in the same vein as thinking as Gyro.

   ‘I know what I’m doing!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Cobalion, use Sacred Sword on Ditto!’

   Cobalion’s eyes lit up. As though that loud, resolute voice was what it had been waiting for. As though it refused to take orders unless they were an utter command.

   Cobalion’s body glowed blue. A celestial light emanated from beneath its fur; from beneath its skin. It raised its head and its horns gleamed with a white aura. Cobalion struck its head forward and the light slashed through the battlefield.

   With a single strike, Cobalion felled all of the foes Pokemon. The two Hippowdon moaned as they collapsed. Puffs of sand rose up before fading into invisible motes of dust. Ditto transformed back. Benjamin’s Skarmory flapped its wings and with a breathtaking fall, it crashed into the ground beneath it. Benjamin and L.A. were forced to recall their Pokemon.

   Cobalion roared, gracious in victory.

   ‘Th-Thank you, Cobalion.’ Johnny was dumbstruck but a voice of appreciation seemed appropriate in this situation.

   Cobalion made an odd noise. Rebellion gleamed in its handsome, pale gold eyes. It shook its head, flicked its ears, and pawed at the ground. It no longer seemed interested in obeying Johnny’s orders. Or, perhaps, it was never truly meant to obey Johnny, it just so happened they had similar ideas as to what the main course of action ought to be.

   Cobalion let loose a second Sacred Sword attack. Benjamin and L.A. screamed, cowered, as they realised that they were the target for such an attack. The glow that encapsulated Cobalion previously returned and this time, it returned much stronger; much brighter. With a majestic growl, it thrust itself forward. The light slashed Benjamin to pieces. Blood spurted from his horrendous wounds. His leg was lopped right off from the stump that was his thigh.

   ‘Bloody hell..’ Johnny gasped at the utter horror of it all.

   L.A., in his terror, had managed to dive away from where the attack was aimed. His father’s body twitched strangely as the man turned to a corpse with his blood gushing from his clean-cut wounds. It was an awful, awful sight and it caused something inside of L.A. to snap.

   He was slow, at first, scared to move. Questioning himself and every thought but he decided to dive on Johnny. He yanked him away from Gyro and clutched at his throat.

   ‘You! This is your fault!’ L.A. shrieked. ‘You fucker, how dare you do this to Daddy!’

   L.A. popped a knife and he edged it along Johnny’s throat. He tried to still himself but his heart raced.

   ‘I’m gonna tear out your arteries!’ L.A. yelled.

   ‘Coooba!’ Cobalion howled.

   It bowed its head. The top of its head, the fur, stiffened and became hard like a sheet of metal. It charged forward. The top of its head connected with the top of L.A’s back. He screamed as he crumpled to the ground. And yet, despite the force Cobalion had used, Johnny was utterly untouched. It was only L.A. who received the brunt of the force. Johnny’s hair had fluttered and he had flinched but that was it.

   Cobalion grunted, satisfied that it had protected Johnny. Johnny was awestruck once more. He tried to reach out once more to Cobalion. His mouth fell open but he was too muted to say anything; to even think anything. Cobalion looked down at him and turned away. It slowly strode off and once more, nature met it like it was royalty: curling down it in respect and the utmost reverence.

   L.A. dragged himself to his father’s side. He clutched the dying man and screamed, cried. Tears streamed down his filth cheeks. He was utterly deranged with grief, anger, and terror.

   ‘You bastards!’ L.A. screamed. ‘I’ll get you back for this! I’ll never forgive you!’

   Mountain Tim seemed to have snapped himself back to full consciousness or something akin. He saddled up his Tauros and fed it some health replenishing foods. Once more, it was fighting fit.

   ‘Ignore him.’ he grunted. ‘The Boom Boom Family is finished. They won’t survive these woods with those wounds. They’ll run out of water before rescue finds ‘em.’

   Gyro slowly got to his feet. He was a tad wobbly, limping, but he was fine. He was forcing himself on through the pain, already calculating in his head what he would need to do to handle the strain and the wounds.

   ‘You: Gyro Zeppeli!’ L.A. seethed and he pointed at Gyro; he looked as though he were about to place a curse on him. There was an unfathomable rage in his eyes. ‘There’s no way you’ll reach your goal! Do you think that we’re the only ones after your lives? Wroooong! Just ask that person from your country!’

   Gyro ignored L.A. but Johnny, and even Mountain Tim, began to take interest in what he was saying as they readied themselves for their next ride. L.A. continued to rave.

   ‘The reason we were after you isn’t just ‘because you placed first! It’s because we were promised two hundred thousand for your death! There’s a bounty for your head!’

   Though Gyro had silently promised himself to ignore this lunatic's prattlings, he couldn’t help himself. It was likely that it was true. A deep seriousness crossed his face as he asked a single, simple question:

   ‘Who hired you?’

   ‘What?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘I reckon we ought to keep moseying along, we don’t want to strand ourselves too far from the next waterhole lest we meet with more unfortunate company.’ Mountain Tim piped up.

   He had already begun to trot off on the back of his Tauros.

   Johnny and Gyro took his advice. They reared back slightly then ran after him. L.A. continued to shout maddened things at them but they were ignored. He was merely yelling out of grief for his father and brother and out of the mistaken belief that he could still fight; still, kill them.

   At first, they rode in silence. They were still commiserating on what had happened. They had been visited by a godly Pokemon after all but clearly, there was more than divinity at play here. Greed, also. Distinctly human machinations of planning were beginning to turn like cogs in a clock.

   They passed through the forest. They passed lopsided trees and silent, hallowed groves as they continued on through the paling darkness. It was hard to believe it was past midnight; past morning at this time. The moon was a solemn beacon of light in the midst of the darkness of the forest they did race through.

   But, then, Johnny could bear it no more.

   He called out to Gyro; barely half a distance between them. Johnny could practically feel that Mudsdale’s tail swat at his face. He frowned, took a breath then cleared it as a cough.

   ‘Gyro… what did he mean that someone from your country is after your life?’ he asked, as loud as he could muster.

   Gyro shot him a dirty look; one that said “no questions” but Johnny pressed on.

   ‘What did L.A. Boom Boom mean?’ he yelled.

   ‘No questions! It’s none of your business!’ Gyro shouted, fierce.

   ‘It is my business; it became my business when it lost cost me my life. I have the right to ask!’ Johnny shouted back.

   Gyro was silent. He fumed with so many words he could hurl at Johnny but silence was more than enough to portray how much he wanted Johnny to shut up. Which was exactly why Johnny kept speaking, yelling, to fill the tense silence between them.

   ‘Come to think of it, what if that Mrs Robinson had come after us was because of that bounty on your head? What’s your reasoning for entering this race, Officer Zeppeli? Is it related to that newspaper article? I’m gonna get you to talk one way or another, just so you know!’

   At first, it seemed like Gyro’s lips were sealed tight but he relented. He then began to tell a story that involved the newspaper clipping Johnny had found earlier.


	20. VS THE DUTY OF A ZEPPELI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyro explains why he has entered the race.

   Hailing from the region that is the prestigious and beautiful Kalos, Gyro began to explain his story. He was from a small, traditional town with strong ties to the royal family as this ‘small’ town was known for two of some of the most important chateaus and palaces belonging to the aristocratic families. Gyro assured his listeners that he had no blood ties there; only ties of duty.

   Although Kalos is traditionally politically neutral on the grand scale, it is known for its inside conflict however. After something of a drought of internal conflict, rebellion has once against reared its ugly head in the form of a public desire to become a republic due to the economic crisis that is slowly bubbling to the top of public conscious as well.

   Considered one of the main hubs of monotheism in the world, Kalos is ruled by divine right. With most of the population practicing said religion, there has been little issue until as of late. With development of science, there has been a turning away from what was once considered fact and now becoming myth. Knowing this, it becomes easier to understand the circumstances that surround this which is not Gyro’s personal story but rather something that he read up on.

   This is a story that made the newspapers, dated April twenty-third, 1890.

   In the Kalosian countryside, there was a little boy called Marco. He was nine years old. He was just like any other child his age: sweet-faced, a touch playful, and enjoyed the companionship of his family pet, a Linoone that was getting on years. The boy’s family was that of servitude.

   His father and the fathers before him were all servants to the same aristocratic family. Marco was to be the same as all those before him. He was to become a servant to a Baron Rippi and his job would be of cleaning hats and shoes. When he was to embark upon this life of servitude, at the mere age of nine years, his father said to him:

   “This job will bring you happiness, as long as you remain humble and earnest.”

   Crying, Marco hugged his father dearly as he bestowed such advice unto him.

   Every morning, Marco got up earlier than the rest and would begin his chores. He would sit down with a rag and in silence, he would shine the shoes and brush the hats that belonged to the Baron and his guests. Every day, he would do as such and not once did a complain slip past his lips. He understood his role well despite his age.

   However, one morning that was weeks after beginning his service, the country’s military police broke into the estate. And Marco was arrested.

   Wide-eyed and more awed than anything, Marco allowed himself to be taken away by these strange, faceless men in identical uniforms.

   Unbeknownst to Marco, the man he worked for: Baron Rippi, had been plotting a revolution against the king of that country. The king’s assassination was prevented. But treason remained in its wake; treason: a most heinous and serious crime.

   The Baron’s family and partners were put on trial. They were also sentenced to execution. From the evidence, assassination was planned in the estate and therefore all involved with the estate became conspirators. Young Marco was seen as part of the Baron’s family and partners because he had been shining shoes for them every morning inside their estate.

   “There is no doubt about it…” they decided.

   The decision was absolute. Beheading would be the execution method.

   Or at least such a decision would be absolute if this was not where the cross-section of lives had not bisected. However, beginning at this cross-section, would not fully capture the nuances of why such an absolute decision would be contested.

   “Every man needs a map… a map in his heart to ride across the wilderness” is a quote that Gyro Zeppeli’s father would often use around the house. His family’s home was a simple home; to a child’s eyes, to an outsider’s set of eyes. There were certain simplicities to it that would lead to larger intricacies.

   Beginning with the complexities of his father, Gregorio Zeppeli, he is a peculiar yet honourable man. He had a strict philosophy. He is a man who lives set apart from sentimentality. He never makes personal friends and treats his partner Pokemon with a somewhat clinical manner. He even avoids visiting people and allowing visitors; not even his relatives are exempt to such a belief of simplicity and anti-sentimentality. He only ever spends his time with his family at dinner. He does not allow photography nor does he keep a journal or the like. Even when Gyro graduated from his school, his father did not make an appearance at that graduation. He neither receives nor gives presents; outside of that which is mandated by Zeppeli tradition, anyway.

   It is because he believed that memories of human relationship would lead to the sentimentality which he detests. It was all part of his strict regulation of his life and emotional state. In order to stay clear and sharp, he could not allow his judgement to be cracked and he believed that it would be sentimentality which would lead to such ill tidings.

   As for Gyro’s mother there was not much to be said. She was a local woman of muted beauty; she was a diligent wife. In pair with her cold husband but Gyro had firm memories of the understanding they had.  Once or twice a month, Gyro’s Father would be summoned by the King’s Servant. On those mornings, his mother would prepare a meal. It was a small, silent meal; a meal of simplicity. It would consist of fish, a loaf bread, and wine. It was always the same. He would eat in silence, in peace, before heading to the King’s court.

   At that time, the King’s Servant - a strange, robed man - would appear before Gyro in those mornings and as the same thing of him:

   “How old are you now, Gyro?”

   That was all he would ever say to Gyro.

   Gyro’s Father was a doctor. He examined both the rich and the poor from the clinic that he ran beside his seemingly simple home. There were afternoons in which he would invite a young Gyro, a nine-year-old Gyro, into his study and Gyro would be in awe of the all the books. But, one afternoon, he invited Gyro into his study with a purpose.

   “Gyro come here, a little closer.”

   Gyro was hesitant at first as his father had looked so steeped in study previously, he didn’t want to interrupt. He had thought this afternoon to have been another day of quiet study. Apparently not as his father extended a warm, rough hand to him and placed in his palm was a green, Steel Ball.

   “This is a PokeBall that contains your first Pokemon, should you be able to claim it from me, of course. Our family has bred a prized line of Aggron, inside this PokeBall is an Aron. Much like you, it has a lot to learn.”

   “Wait, really, for me?!”

   “Yes, you are beginning to come of age, soon you will be grown and the years will have flown. It is fine to take interest in Pokemon, I know you enjoy watching those races but first, you must master the art of the Spin.”

   “Thank you so much, Father!”

   Gyro had reached out for it but his father had averted his reach.

   “Hey, I thought you were giving me this Aron.”

   “Think my son, how will you take this PokeBall from me?”

   Excited by the prospect of owning his own Pokemon, it took Gyro less than a moment to devise a plan. He jabbed at the books lining the shelf above his father’s desk where he sat even now. Then, he grabbed onto his father’s arm; even bit down on it.

   “Whoa, Gyro, that’s not right!” he yelled as he yanked his son off of his arm and books spilt off his lap.

   Gyro pulled back, he pouted.

   “Not by dirty tricks or cheating!” his father roused. “Consider this your first lesson on how to be an honourable man: in both battle and life. You will take this PokeBall through rotation. How will you take it by rotation?”

   “But it’s impossible, Dad.” Gyro replied, petulant.

   “If you are to progress in this world, you must learn about the power we have contained in the steel PokeBalls. You need to be able to do everything by the time you are may embark on your journey by twelve and return as heir, as a man, by thirteen. As is the way of our house. I was taught by your grandfather; your grandfather was taught by his father.”

   “But why, Father? What does the steel PokeBall have to do with Grandfather and Great-Grandfather… the other families use Apricorns…”

   “Because the men of the Zeppeli have always done this. And you can surely do it too. You may leave now.”

   Gyro was dismayed. He turned towards the door, upset that he had failed in securing his first Pokemon; and the legacy of the Spin that it represented. His fist clenched by his side as the door opened slightly as he pushed on it.

   “Besides,” his father said as he began to rearrange his desk, “it is much easier to place it in a hand than to take it away.”

   “Huh?”

   Gyro lifted his hand and uncurled his fingers from his palm. His eyes widened. He didn’t even realise that he was holding onto it but, in his palm, he had been holding onto a green steel PokeBall. It was both heavier and lighter than he expected. How strange. His eyes widened. Without even having to do anything, it began to rock.

   “Whoa? When did you…? Thanks, Father! I promise to take great care of my Aron!” he promised.

   Gyro grinned. He was already thinking up ‘cool’ nicknames for this little Aron of his tucked away safe inside of its PokeBall.

   His father smiled, wistful but proud.

   Between learning the Spin, training his Aron, and catching other Pokemon, the days quickly turned to months and in turn, to years. Before Gyro knew it, he was twelve and it was time for him to embark on a journey. At the tender age of twelve, it was terrifying, the prospect of leaving his simple, childhood home. It was only for a year and he would have what his Pokemon and his Spin technique to protect him but still, it was beyond daunting.

   However, it was in that year of travel that Gyro saw many things. He caught and raised Pokemon and grew up. He became independent and free. It was beautiful as it was petrifying. But that was the way of his House; and a few more, he encountered others his age whose parents had let them travel through Kalos in hopes that they would grow.

   He could recall a pair of brothers; they were good battlers, or at least the younger of the two were. The younger of the two had been battling and had won against some other boy his own age in Dendemille Town, up north. Gyro recalled that memory fondly; though the Pokemon that small boy had used was currently escaping his memory.

   He said that the reason he had such fondness for that memory was that it was the sweet reverie that came before the change as though Gyro had seen many things in that year he had spent alone with his trustworthy comrades, there had been one thing he had never witnessed.

   Something that he would never witness until his thirteenth birth. He had returned to his dear home of Camphrier Town two days prior to his thirteenth birthday. His mother had celebrated his safe return. He had grown so much taller and stockier. He was truly a changed youth. His father had not been so jubilant. He had looked over Gyro once and concluded that he had indeed become a “man” but he didn’t treat it as anything celebratory. He treated it with the same mundanity as keeping a record of heights on the door frame in the kitchen.

   It was two mornings later when Gyro met the King’s Servant and once more, he asked:

   “How old are you now, Gyro?”

   To which, Gyro did reply: “Thirteen, sir.”

   The King’s Servant could hardly believe Gyro’s growth. As a child, he had been plucky and small but now, he was thirteen and as such, he was beginning to show hairs upon his lips, a stocky build, and a rising attitude that came with the idea that child had become something akin to adult.

   At thirteen, Gyro’s Aron had become a Lairon.

   And, it was at thirteen, that his father delivered grave news. He had stated it in a simple voice. As was the way with the Zeppeli household.

   “Today you will come with me.”

   That morning, his mother had prepared a simple meal for him. Upon a plate, just for him, was a seared fish paired with fragrant wine and a loaf of thickly crusted bread. As she placed it before him at his place at the dinner table, his mother kissed him in on his cheek in silence. Gyro then ate his small, simple meal.

   Gyro’s father was given the same meal. Together, they ate and no words were exchanged between them or the family. It had been like this many more mornings before but somehow, today it was different. It was hallowed. After their meal, Gyro and his father boarded a carriage.

   The carriage that the two of them rode, took them to a building with tall walls on the north-west side of the castle. It was there, upon entering, that Gyro’s Father spoke to him in a firm but soft voice.

   “Every man needs a map… a map in his heart to ride across the wilderness. Listen carefully, you are the eldest son of the Zeppeli House. You need to protect your family. True happiness is found in family. Protecting your family relates to protecting your country. For your family to fall apart is to scorn your descendants and your future descendants. Never forget that, my son.”

   Gyro had listened intently but he didn’t understand.

   They exited the carriage and his father put on a beautiful robe. It was luxuriant purple with gold decorations. He looked regal in it. It was almost as though this was the moment that many children had fantasised about because it was featured in many fairy tales. It was almost as though Gyro was about to learn he was descended from royalty or something. That was the type of aura his father exuded as he donned that gorgeous gown.

   He strode forward and Gyro’s reverie was about to be killed.

   “From now on, you will be my assistant. This is the job that has been placed upon us by the King three hundred and eighty years ago. It has been the Zeppeli Family’s duty throughout the years… Continuing through entire generations of Kings. You must approach this duty with honour.”

   This duty his father was about to thrust upon young Gyro was nothing as beautiful as a child’s fantasy.

   “Job…? Assistant…?” Gyro murmured. “What is this place?”

   Behind a door made up of steel bars, a ruckus began. It was loud and noisy: many screams.

   “Officer!” one man screamed. “Please come into the courtyard! He won’t stop kicking and screaming!”

   Gyro swallowed. His skin prickled, he trembled. He sweated bullets. What was happening?

   “F-Father?” he murmured.

   His Father strode forward. He approached the guard at the door and began to converse with him.

   “What about the Priest? Was he not able to calm his heart?”

   “He’s uncontrollable. There is no peace for him.”

   His Father turned to him.

   “Gyro.” he said, patiently. “You wait here. You wait for my orders.”

   His father pulled down a white hood over his face. Only his eyes were visible. That was the moment in which Gyro fully understood the situation. He was terrified. Shocked to the core. This was not the simple life he had always lived with his family; the family of doctors… not murderers.

   Gyro stood as still as a statue. He watched through the bars of that door as his father fulfilled the honourable duty of the House of Zeppeli.

   His Father drew out a sword from the armoury. Three other hooded men restrained a man who had his head in wooden gallow. The man was on his knees and wound tightly in metal links and yet he struggled anyway.

   “Stop! Nooo! I’ll curse you all! I don’t want to die!”

   “Be still. Silence your heart.”

   And that was the moment in which Gyro understood why the other families used PokeBalls crafted from Apricorn shells rather than steel. It was also the first moment in which he saw the very PokeBalls he carried, that his family carried, as a weapon.

   His father pounded the man’s back and embedded the steel PokeBall in the centre. The man’s back rippled like a disrupted pond but he settled. He was soothed There was a moment of tranquillity before a gush of blood. The sword cleaved through the man’s neck and his head rolled. It was over in an instant but it had felt so much longer.

   The steel PokeBall bounced back and his father collected it. He stowed it away in his robes then turned around. He walked towards Gyro. His blade was loose in his hand and left a blood trail. He shoved it uncaringly towards his son. Gyro’s stomach wretched and he’d never seen so much blood before. He was petrified.

   “Your job begins here. You will sanitise the sword.” his father instructed.

   There was no warmth or compassion to his voice. He had no sympathy for his son. In his eyes, in the eyes of tradition, his son was a man. He was an adult. And he would be treated as such. The detachment was unnatural, it frightened Gyro but he resolved to inherit the legacy of his family, as blood-drenched as it was.

   It was seconds after that moment, that Gyro understood though as to why his father was so repulsed by sentimentality.

   “This has been the duty of the Zeppeli family for three hundred and eighty years.”

   As long as there is a system of execution in the constitution, there needs to be someone to fulfil the command. In pre-twentieth century Kalos, the position of the executioner was a strict occupation controlled by the government. It was passed down through heritage, therefore the ones who were ordered to carry out the executions received a high position and a high wage, but from father to son… and son to grandson, the technique of execution was passed solely down the family line.

   Humans can die from one wound but the will to live is surprisingly strong. It requires a good amount of technique to bring about certain death. Even criminals deserve a death without suffering. A second blow will never be acceptable. An expert is required to execute as swiftly as the blink of an eye.

   Where are the vital spots in the body? What areas can be cut easily without bones interfering?

   The executioner must know everything there is about the human body for the sake of a smooth execution. So, they studied everything there was: medicinal sciences to martial arts. To bring bodies to stillness and peace, the Zeppeli family developed the rotation of the Steel Ball.

   PokeBalls contained innumerable power and the Zeppeli executioners saw that. They saw that their faithful partner Pokemon, the mighty Aggron line, contained unknowable potential. So, they studied that also and developed a new PokeBall: the steel PokeBall. From that knowledge applied to the body, they developed a new power, a peculiar power.

   The steel Ball - the steel PokeBall - is not a weapon. It was not developed for pain but rather for peace. The technique was developed over centuries and small alterations were made throughout the generations as needed, as an understanding of the applications grew.

   To carry out executions, that was the duty of the Zeppeli family.

   There had been instances in the past where the will to live had pulsed strong in those whose executions were scheduled to be minutes away that semi successful attempts to flee were made. There had been an instance wherein a man had a missing bone in his neck. Where the average person had seven, this particular criminal only had six. So, this criminal’s vital area had been changed but Gyro’s Father was ever perceptive and had noticed this abnormality. Thanks to that, he had altered his execution style and it proceeded as per normal.

   But there had also been an instance of a criminal having a bodily abnormality that no one noticed. This man’s fingers had joints that could bend the opposite way and has used that secret to slip from his handcuffs. From that, he was able to escape and he quickly took a guard hostage.

   He used an impromptu weapon and its sharpened edge nibbled at his hostage’s neck.

   “Ha, fools!” the prisoner yelled. He reeked of desperation and perspiration. “Don’t come near me! If I’m gonna get executed anyways, I’m gonna take as many of youse as I can! Bring your keys; keys for this prison!”

   At first, the executioners relented. They didn’t want to risk the loss of one of their comrades nor their own lives so they obeyed the nonsensical demands of the man. They bunched together but from this, one grew bold: Gyro.

   He took a steady breath as he strode forward. He unclipped a PokeBall from his waist but he did not have the intent to call forth the creature it contained; his mighty Aggron.

   “Hey, hey, y-you… what’re you doing?” the prisoner yelped.

   Gyro made no reply. He was calm and certain of himself. He exerted his presence without doing anything and it was because he was so seamlessly projecting, he intimidated the prisoner.

   The prisoner began to shake, tremble. His knife hand turned unsteady. Gyro remained firm. He gave his PokeBall an almost careless wind-up before releasing it straight into the chest of the hostage. The hostage shivered, braced himself, and was fine. Not a wrinkle to be spotted on his garments. However, the prisoner was completely constricted by his own clothes. They wrenched around his body and sealed his movements. The hostage limped forward and the others were able to subdue the prisoner.

   He was shortly executed thereafter.

   Gyro’s popularity grew among the others. He was growing to be a fine heir to the Zeppeli legacy. He was well-liked and trustworthy but, upon the decision of Marco’s execution, his seriousness towards his family’s legacy and honour was questioned thanks to his actions; his simple actions.

  Gyro was to receive the mantle of his father’s position at the age of twenty-five. He had approached this heavy legacy with the utmost care in his studies and practices. Gyro had taken his duty seriously and as such, he was due to be the successor come his time; come the thirty-first of December given that that would mark his twenty-fifth birthday, after all. His studies and his practices had all gone smoothly until the execution of Marco had been decided; he was the boy who scrubbed shoes at the aristocrat’s mansion which had held plots of treason which made him a traitor to the crown by association.

   However, even though Gyro was popular and his time to reign in his father’s stead drew in ever closer, he was still young. He was still prone to mistakes. There was a little more to it than just hearing about this unfair execution. It was seeing Marco’s eyes - seeing Marco’s helplessness - in this situation which had caused Gyro’s heart to falter. His own sentimentality peeked through the guise of professionalism that he had done well to don like his executioner’s hood these past few years.

   At that moment, Gyro and his father were in a separate part of the halls and were considering how to properly execute a frail old man. He was wrinkled as aged leather. He laid on his back and twisted his head slightly. He coughed and sputtered; his mouth seemed more like a maw since it was practically toothless.

   However, further down the hall, a commotion began. A commotion in which one of their fellow prison guard’s had two fingers severed.

   A woman was being escorted through. She was heavily chained and guarded. She was small and fragile looking; beautiful even, with silky hair and luscious eyelashes upon demure eyes. However, that woman was a ruthless prisoner condemned to death. To her name, she had quite the gruesome history. She had killed many people, families and children, with vile poisons.

   While she was being escorted, she began to jerk and move about like a wild Pokemon. In the frenzy, she bit off two of her guard’s fingers with the power of a pump. In the chaos, with blood dripping from her delicately shaped mouth, she rammed at the closest guard, who happened to be Gyro.

   She clamped her hand around his neck. People yelled at him; to do something, they demanded. She tore off the fanciful, white neckerchief from around his neck and discarded it. Her bondage embedded on his throat. He unclipped one of his steel PokeBalls but he had no intent to call upon any of his partner Pokemon. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the ball at her but he succumbed. There was just a slight hesitation; a slight moment of weakness. And, as a result, the ball was thrown off course.

   It became embroiled in her gorgeous, black hair. Her jaw slackened and eyes widened. She was more startled than anything.

   Fortunately, this case did not come to disaster. It merely teetered around it. As such, Gyro was brought to a lovingly furnished parlour room by his father and the two began a discussion. Because of the incident, Gyro had to be scolded but his father was not a man for harsh tones or the similar. Instead, it was done firmly and calmly with polite wording, even, but in a very strict manner. In his own way, his father was outraged and it did show.

   “My son, this incident is an accident caused entirely by you. You are the one to be responsible for it.”

   Gyro paused a moment, so he may begin to find a way to defend himself. Such a claim seemed utterly unfair. He was by no means the only factor at play here so why should he account for the entire situation gone askew?

   He then spoke up quietly. “Only me? I was the one who calmed her, Father. I think I was of some help.”

   “Is that so? That woman, what did you think of her? Did you not think to yourself, perhaps, ‘The woman is beautiful, she is small’.”

   Gyro became nervous. It would be a blatant lie to deny that. Those were true facts about her appearance, after all. And they were facts that he had registered in his mind about her.

   “Or, did you not think to yourself when you looked at the cell at the end hall, ‘That prisoner is old and sick’.”

   Gyro swallowed. Again, true facts about a prisoner. Those were thoughts he had had.

   “This is not about failure or carelessness, I’m talking about the sentimentality of the heart. You must not bring that into your duty as a Zeppeli, my son. No matter if a small woman or a man two metres tall, a condemned criminal or a pickpocket: it is all the same. Without that, you could have stopped the woman before she bit off our fellow guard’s fingers. Shame on you! You could have avoided losing your collar, too. The one that bears our honourable crest.” his father lectured.

   Gyro stroked the fabric where his collar should have been. He was harrowed, truth be told that was the tranquil fury of his father. He was right in every sense of the word.

   “A heart full of sentimentality is dangerous… It can set your future to eternal misery. Do not forget, my son.”

   With that, the conversation was over. But, little did Gregorio Zeppeli know, this would be the prelude to an actual disaster. This was but the mere sweet tidings of what could tease at going wrong.

   A few days passed, morning came and Gyro was called to duty once more. When he arrived at the cells, yet another disturbance at erupted.

   “We’ll make you speak!” a guard yelled.

   His meaty fist pounded in front of the bars of a door. He held a strange, white stick in his hand. Gyro was unsure of what it was as it was so odd in colour and shape. He drew in a little closer.

   Behind the bars was a small child. He was wide-eyed and calmed despite the racket he appeared to be at the centre of.

   “This is a needle, is it not? Since when did you have a needle? Where did you get it?”

   There was a pause. There was no reaction from the child. Gyro grew nervous. His father’s most recent lecture echoed in his head.

   “We don’t know why a kid like you were put in here… we haven’t asked you of your crime yet, but if you don’t speak, we’ll show no mercy!”

   The door cell was opened and the guard who had been speaking grabbed the boy by his collar. He breathed heavily over the boy’s face.

   “What were you trying to do with it? Is this needle supposed to be a weapon? Or as a lock-pick? We’ll add jailbreak to your list of crimes, kid! Do you have any companions? What were you planning on doing with this?”

   The boy opened his mouth. A second guard entered his cell and began ransacking his room. Before the boy could explain, the second guard found something of interest. After tearing up his bed, he found something beneath it. It was a white collar with pale gold embellishments in the shape of a fleur-de-lis.

   Gyro recognised it immediately as the collar he had lost the other day.

   “Look what he was hiding under his bed!”

   “This crest… It’s our collar hanger, where did you steal this from? Now, you’ve done it! This is an insult to our country!”

   The boy fell to his knees and began to explain.

   “I… The needle… Out of a fish’s bone. And that was ripped off two days ago by a woman; it had fallen into the drainage. I was able to pick it up through the narrow drain with my hands. But, I’m sure I fixed it. Is that important? Could you please return it to its owner then? I hope that he will like it.”

   The boy paused. Gyro stiffened. The boy then continued with drooping eyes and a voice most sincere.

   “My father taught me that if I do my best, then I will be accepted, someday. It’s the job that my father had and my grandfather before him and even his grandfather. I can sew anything! I’ll beat anyone at shining shoes! And I can make silverware bright and shiny! I can memorise the names of all the finest wines and meals!”

   Gyro barged in and cut through the boy’s impassioned explanation of his talents.

   “Enough, stop!” he yelled. He snatched the collar from the boy. “It’s just a fishbone. Nothing else. Back to your posts, all of you! There’s no problem here so leave the boy alone!”

   The boy lifted himself slightly from the floor upon noticing that Gyro’s guard uniform did not match the others.

   “Is it your collar hanger, sir? I can fix it better if you like.”

   Gyro was overcome with a conflict of instinct versus teaching. He knew the boy was doing the best he could in this situation to preserve himself. After all, he likely saw Gyro as something as hero since he had somewhat protected the boy from the other guards’ badgering. However, he could not allow the sentimentality the boy invoked to persuade him of anything. Even though he saw so much of himself in the boy and the boy’s duty as a craftsman.

   “Stop. Don’t speak to me.. Ever again.” Gyro replied between hot breaths.

   It was that morning that Gyro had heard of that boy’s - Marco’s - crimes. He had also heard of the boy’s sentence as a result. More importantly, he also knew who was to be the one to handle the execution. That man who would strike Marco’s neck was to be him and it was to be his first official duty instead of his father’s retirement.

   Rife with internal conflict of his own, Gyro waded through the actions he could take. He chose the most simple one but it came with the price of repulsive sentimentality. Gyro’s simple yet disgustingly sentimental action was that he would bring up a complaint against the court regarding Marco’s execution.

   Once more, he and his father met together in his study. His father was deeply disappointed and angered by Gyro’s actions. His hair had turned grey but Gyro didn’t remember when that had happened. In his memories as this man’s bratty first born, it was hard to diffuse when the sandy blonde had faded; when his father had aged at all, really. But the fact of the matter was that he had and with that elder age, he had made up his mind. He had decided that this would be the year in which he would retire from this burdensome duty and Gyro would take-over.

   With an exhausted look on his face, he turned to meet Gyro who was quaking in his boots. His father had never raised his voice to scold his son and he wasn’t going to start now either. And so, that silent fury was enough to set Gyro’s nerves on edge. When his father finally spoke, Gyro couldn’t help but shiver.

   “What you did was useless, Gyro… It will only cause our country trouble. Our family’s duty is to not decide whether they are guilty or innocent.”

   “Father.” Gyro brought his words to his voice but he was nervous. “I just want to comply with the duty of consent.”

   “There is no ‘consent’, Gyro. Even towards the worst criminals. The duty of our family is carrying out the orders of the King. That is all. The law is the law. Don’t get involved in the details. This is beyond ‘consent’; it is all divine will.”

   “I will be turning twenty-five this year which means I will have to carry out the execution in your place, correct?”

   “The boy will be executed. This is the end of the discussion. We will not speak any more on this.”

   His father turned back to his reading. He did not appear interested in listening to Gyro as he continued, almost under his breath; like he hadn’t meant to speak at all.

   “They say that names have power… And for that Aron I gave you some fifteen years ago, you named it ‘Jailbreak’... perhaps, I should have seen this coming, in all honesty.”

   To that, Gyro did not know what to say. After all, he had picked that name for it had sound ‘cool’ but a slight part of him couldn’t help but wonder if that superstition had any bearing over his Aggron and himself after all. His father seemed to believe the theory.

   An assassination plot discovered just in time. Treason bodes as the worst crime against the governance. It mattered not if one had heard of the plot whilst shining shoes as Marco had done. If they had kept silent about the plot, they would be guilty; even women and children. It was this sort of era; it was the law of the state.

   Annoyed and overloaded with too any thoughts and opinions and kindness in a line of duty where unflinching, unquestioning faith in the law was of the utmost importance, Gyro attempted to cool his head. He skulked around the courtyard attached to his house. It was there, by the hedges and a statue, that he encountered the King’s Servant once more.

   And once more, with that face as old as time, he opened his weary lips and asked a simple question of Gyro: “How old are you now, Gyro?”

   It was such an easy question. One that Gyro had answered all throughout his life but today, today he just exploded.

   “You always ask me that question; surely by now you know the answer!”

  The King’s Servant was unfazed. Gyro, however, remained argumentative. Like he was itching for some sort of a fight to break out; adrenaline, perhaps.

   “Aren’t you the one who was concerned about the boy?” he asked, serene.

   “That boy…” Gyro’s anger faltered briefly, turned to pity and despair but then it rose once more and a sincerity of dreaming bloomed from his words. “I will take the place of my father who has put his pride in the family line. This is my job, my duty! And that will never change… It hasn’t changed in the past and it won’t change from here on. But I want consent!”

   His emotions got the better of Gyro and he struck a column in the courtyard. His knuckles reddened and roughened. He breathed heavily but he had no regret over his actions. It was better to express them than to let them fester and become pent up.

   “My father said not to mention it. I want to make this duty the pride of my heart! Guilty or innocent! There needs to be consent! Pride and honour cannot exist without consent!”

   Gyro tore himself away from the column and grabbed the King’s Servant by the front. He drilled holes into those seemingly uncaring, impartial eyes that were grey as steel. The King’s servant knew Gyro meant no harm with his tantrum; his dramatics but his interest was thoroughly piqued by the earnest passion and conflict of Gyro’s emotions.

   “I will put my life on the line for pride and honour! Isn’t there a way? Not all laws are justice! I cannot agree with putting this boy to death! He had nothing to do with the assassination plot! I need consent no matter what!” Gyro roared.

   At first, the King’s Servant was quiet. Like he was processing what Gyro had yelled at him. Gyro’s fingers let slip from the man’s robes and he drew back. His breathing was off and some of that anger he had appeared to have died off. Then, a cruel epiphany flashed in the King’s servant’s eyes and he spoke up.

   “You would put your life on the line for that boy? Is that what you said, I’m just checking?”

   “What?”

   “I’m making sure that you would, indeed, risk your life if the boy could be innocent.”

   “What the hell are you saying?” Gyro was suspicious. “Can you do it?

   Gyro took a heavy breath.

   “Yes. I want to save him.” Gyro replied, calmly, rationally. “He was only scrubbing shoes…. Is it wrong for a person from my family to object?”

   “There is one way to reverse the decision.” A bloodthirsty grin split across the man’s tranquil face; Gyro had never seen any emotion on this man's face before, let alone something as sadistic as that. “Say a war breaks out, and a country is declared victorious. The king must release amnesty that everyone can agree with. An amnesty is an exception wherein a criminal’s penalty is lightened!”

   “The King’s amnesty?” Gyro echoed.

   “Yes, the King would release one without a doubt because of that event.”

   “No, what're you saying? What event? There isn’t any war going on in the world right now?”

   “An old colony of Kalos, proud to be independent for twenty-three presidencies now, has now decided it wants to play with the same strengths as us and the Oriental superpowers; something that grandiose would attract much attention worldwide. Unova desires a Champion. In such a case, the King would gift amnesty to the crown Champion if such a man were to be Kalosian in origin.”

   Gyro’s breath hitched in his breath as the realisation unfolded.

   “You have the skill of the Spin and three hundred and eighty years of loyalty backing you. For you, it’s possible, that’s why I’m suggesting it. The entire world will be watching! Victory in this race will bring great dignity to a nation - as well as plenty of political influence since you are not of Unovan origin but rather pure Kalos, that’ll keep Unova under the King’s thumb despite its current state as a republic; so long as you keep that title, of course. Not to mention, the people of Kalos will unite once more under the King’s rule and that will stamp out… unpatriotic actions and ideas!” the King’s Servant explained.

   Gyro could almost feel a noose tightening around his neck. Such a win would bring unforeseeable grandeur. A loss could be devastating. And yet, he accepted nonetheless.


	21. VS TRAINER OYECOMOVA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyro, Johnny, and Mountain Tm encounter a terrorist from Gyro's homeland.

   Under the encapsulating dawn light of the rising sun, Gyro finished up his story. He could still hear the flap of sails in his ears and he had no regrets so far. Gyro was going to put his life on the line for this child. Alongside Johnny and Mountain Tim, they rode into the sunrise.

   At this point in the second stage of the race, it was still unbeknownst to them all that the further Gyro Zeppeli advances in this race, a race equivalent to war, the more relentless and aggressive those who oppose the Kalosian King would become. After all, this was foreign soil for a man hailing from Camphrier Town; it was Unovan soil.

   With slight squabbling once their energy petered out, the trio approached a little town in the midst of the thick forest; a town not on any map except those provided by the race officials. It didn’t take long for them to tether their mounts to poles provided by the hotel and to unpack. Johnny unfolded his wheelchair and got comfortable in it, readjusting to sitting still rather than on the back of his Zebstrika. Once, he was ready, the three of them went into the hotel to prepare lodgings for themselves.

   It went very smoothly since expenses for lodging and meals in places like these were provided by Steel Ball Run funds. It certainly put that fee to use, already. Everything was clean; never been touched before they had turned up and they had turned up first, second, and third by the way.

   They dumped their things in their room. They were all too hopped up on adrenaline to care that they had’t slept all night. So, they whittled away their early morning time in other ways. Gyro used to the privacy of their room to fix up his foot as he was walking with a limp as well as to make sure the injuries he had sustained to his ear were fine; thankfully, they were. However, being bit of an oddball, it was that Furret of his that got a fair bit of attention.

   His Furret, too big to fit in his lap, was happy to sleep with its head on his lap and its tail on the ground. It looked a bit uncomfortable stretched out like that given that Gyro was sitting on an armchair but it seemed content. Gyro did his best not to wake his Furret as he reached into his messenger back and drew out a letter; the one he had opened earlier near the office opposite the hotel. Upon arrival, the clerks had handed it to him. He’d torn it open immediately; discarding the scarlet seal placed upon it and he skimmed over it, slightly uninterested but his eyes were slightly out of focus so maybe his disinterest was simple exhaustion.

   Johnny didn’t ask about it but Gyro explained its contents anyway; to both him and Mountain Tim. It was an unusual letter but Johnny didn’t think too much of it. Too much Kalosian jargon in it for him to understand; or so he assumed. Besides, he was still thinking about Cobalion. There was something on the tip of his tongue about it.

   Johnny grunted. Gyro put his letter away and raised an eyebrow.

   ‘What’re you thinking about? Looks like you're struggling to wrap your head around something.’

   ‘There’s an old children’s folk song type thing about the Swords of Justice and it’s on the tip of my tongue and it's pissing me off that I can’t remember it.’ Johnny said.

   Mountain Tim made a thoughtful noise; he was half watching the clouds pass or maybe having an open eye sleep. Who knew with him.

   ‘Hey, do you know the one I’m talking about?’ Johnny asked Mountain Tim.

   ‘I was a kid once, of course, I remember.’ Mountain Tim replied.

   ‘Alright then, how does it go?’ Johnny asked; a touch sharp.

   ‘Oh, um… uh… Something… something… Swords of Justice?’ Mountain Tim tried out a tune but he sounded horribly off-key.

   Gyro snickered.

   ‘Don’t suppose you know it?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘I know plenty o’ children’s songs, just not any from around here.’ Gyro replied, testy.

   ‘That’s what I thought. I mean, you thought Cobalion was a regular old Pokemon, after all.’ Johnny teased.

   ‘It was an honest mistake!’ Gyro snapped.

   ‘Hey, I think I remember it now anyway.’ Johnny piped up; just in time too since he was riling up Gyro and had been all morning.

   Johnny blushed, a little bit embarrassed for suddenly remembering not just part of this song but all of it. He carried an uncertain tune to a strange little song:

   ‘Four sacred swordsmen, all for one, one for all, four sacred swordsmen, just and fair: first is Cobalion, heart of steel and the true blue leader, second is Terrakion, head of rock and home of victory, third is Virizion, soul of majesty and all of nature’s friend, and last is Keldeo, and last is Keldeo, the ordinary and the resolute; runs across the water, Four sacred swordsman, all for one, one for all, four sacred swordsmen: each punish the evil with their Sacred Swords, just and fair: they are the Swords of Justice.’

   Mountain Tim laughed and half-heartedly joined in whereas Gyro, in jest, covered his Furret’s ears. His Furret, of course, blissfully unaware of Johnny’s shoddy singing.

   ‘You two sound like a pair of wounded Murkrows.’ Gyro said.

   ‘Oh, like you’re any better.’ Johnny replied with a roll of his eyes.

   ‘I am leagues ahead of you as a singer, Joestar.’ Gyro bragged.

   ‘Go on then.’ Johnny taunted.

   Gyro flashed a grin and Johnny’s stomach plummeted. It seemed like he was going to take this little challenge seriously. Mountain Tim whistled, amused. He rested against the windowsill; as though certain that he knew this would be a disaster.

   Gyro cleared his throat, as pompously as he could to annoy Johnny and then began.

  ‘Four sacred swordsmen, all for one, one for all, four sacred swordsmen, just and fair.. Um, oh right! Third is Virizion, soul of majesty and all of nature’s friend, and… um, uh….Four sacred swordsmen, all for one, one for all, four sacred swordsmen: each punish the evil with their Sacred Swords, just and fair: they are the Swords of Justice.’ Gyro sang.

   ‘Oh? And we’re the ones who sound like a pair of wounded Murkrows, are we?’ Johnny teased. ‘You forgot, like, half the song.’

   ‘Hey, I did very well for someone who’s only heard it once and out of your mouth.’ Gyro boasted.

   ‘I think he sounded alright.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Ha, see! Oh, and Squealer liked it too; so I guess you’re the only one who isn’t appreciative of my talents, Johnny.’ Gyro said.

   ‘Squealer is asleep and does not get an opinion!’ Johnny asserted.

   Mountain Tim was half amused by their back and forth squabbling. They seemed to get along well. He yawned and stretched out.

   ‘Anyone else hungry?’ he asked.

   ‘I guess, haven’t eaten since yesterday.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Maybe that’s why the two of you are so irritable then, why don’t we mosey on along and find out where they keep the food around here. You two go ahead, I wanna clean up something real quick.’ Mountain Tim suggested.

   ‘Sounds good.’ Gyro said and his stomach appeared to agree as it growled in hunger.

   Gyro returned his Furret to its PokeBall. He holstered it and waited for Johnny to start moving before he got up as well. Mountain Tim fluffed around for a little bit. He did things like use the toilet and brush his teeth. He didn’t know why but he was just feeling a tad gross; needed to freshen up. He was soon to catch up with Johnny and Gyro though. They had already made it across the street by the time Mountain Tim had gotten down the stairs.

   Whilst all that happened, a soft wind whistled through the almost ghostly town. It toyed with the Unovan flags hoisted on the brand new buildings’ facades and streaked past a covered wagon. It was hard to believe anyone was here but two squat clerks were sharing a yarn in front of their office and opposite them were three stationed mounts: a Zebstrika, a Mudsdale, and a Tauros.

   The clerks perked up when they noticed someone uncertainly step into town. He was covered head to toe in white make-up and donned netting that would keep flies out. He rode upon a Scoliopede that seemed quite exhausted.

   ‘Congratulations on your early arrival, good sir!’ one clerk said; he held up a map and pointed out a location on it. ‘This is a town that was specifically built for the Steel Ball Run race.’

   His co-worker chortled. ‘We were expecting the second stage riders to start appearing tomorrow but there are some real driven folk in this race, apparently.’

   ‘According to our information, you distanced yourself a day’s worth from the group of Sandman and Diego “Dio” Brando who has taken on a separate route. Now, we’ll need to check your race number and mount’s nose print.’

   He looked around whilst the clerks fussed.

   ‘I’m not… first?’

   ‘You are currently in fourth place, Mr. Oyecomova.’

   ‘Mr. Mountain Tim arrived first. But Gyro Zeppeli argued that he arrived a neck’s length ahead of Mr. Johnny Joestar… who then protested such an assertion and then claimed that he was the one to arrive first.’

   ‘However, being an unofficial checkpoint, these rankings have no bearings on the actual race.’

   Something caught Oyecomova’s eye and picked up a torn up part of a wax seal. He inspected it and found that it had a fleur-de-lis embedded it in.

   ‘Does a phone line run through here, by any chance?’ he asked.

   ‘There’s only the telegram, oh, and the postal service.’

   ‘Also, we have lodgings and a barber and a blacksmith, anything you could… need?’

   The clerks prattled between themselves, so engaged in talking about the good points of the tiny town, they had a delayed reaction in noticing that Oyecomova had walked away disinterested. He didn’t even tether his Scolipede; he left it at the steps of the office where it obediently stayed put. If anything, it slumped down for a rest.

   Oyecomova wandered through the hotel. He ignored the protests of the receptionist and went straight up to the rooms. He looked for the room which seemed inhabited and he found one in which the door was slightly ajar. He silently crept through it and found hastily put away bags; one of which was adorned with a hideous blue blanket covered in pink stars. How tacky looking. However, it was not that particular bag which caught his interest. It was the plainer looking messenger bag that attracted his curiosity.

   He knelt down and rustled through it. He was in search of an envelope that would be missing a crimson seal. However, before he could search thoroughly he was interrupted by someone approaching.

   ‘Somebody, I know? Nope, guess not. But why would you come into a stranger’s room and go through his stuff?’

   A husky sort of drawl spewed out these musings to Oyecomova. But, more important than the tone his voice, was the seriousness of his eyes and the way his finger curled around the trigger of the gun he wielded. Oyecomova sensed that this man would not aim to kill but he wasn’t above dirty shots like aiming at his kneecaps.

   Mountain Tim had been in the parlour when he noticed the tame Scolipede across the road and thought it odd. He didn’t know why but it seemed to go hand in hand with a strange feeling that something was amiss with their lodgings. As per usual, his hunch had been right on the money has he had encountered this strange person crouched among Gyro’s things.

   Oyecomova turned his head and spoke calmly: ‘I’m looking for Gyro Zeppeli. Where is he?’

   Mountain Tim didn’t reply. So, despite the gun, Oyecomova decided that he was not worth his time and continued his search. He soon found the letter he was after; half crushed between larger items among Gyro’s things. He opened it up and began to read it.

   ‘Hey, you, don’t mess with that!’ Mountain Tim yelled.

   He grabbed Oyecomova’s shoulder. Mountain Tim yanked back and Oyecomova complied. He half-stumbled away from the bag but he didn’t let go the letter. He began to read it.

   ‘Just like I thought. He had received a letter from the King’s Servant.’ Oyecomova said.

   He frowned though as he read the contents. He didn’t understand it. Not for the language, it was written in but rather for some of the terms.

   ‘Zombie Salamence... What’s that?’ Oyecomova asked but from what he could discern from the rest of the letter, such a thing promised a miraculous cure for injury and fatigue.

   Oyecomova looked up from the letter and looked towards Mountain Tim. However, he politely kept his eyes low even though Mountain Tim was furious, ready to start a battle.

   ‘Oh yes, just a warning… I’m going to meet your demand for battle in a moment but first, I am going to suggest putting a little distance between us,’ Oyecomova brushed over a PokeBall holstered to his belt and wryly smirked, ‘as I employ tactics which are often dangerous.’

   Oyecomova met Mountain Tim’s eyes bravely; suddenly. Then, it was a race for who could call upon a partner in battle first. And the first to be able to do so was Oyecomova. He silently threw out a PokeBall and Mountain Tim didn’t even get the chance to see what sort of opponent he was up against before an explosion.

   A bright, yellow light followed by a bang; louder than a gunshot. Oyecomova walked away from it as a great cloud of smoke plumed behind him. The smell of burnt flesh seared his nostrils as Mountain Tim watched his own flesh sizzle before him. His hand burned considerably as he took all the damage.

   ‘I won’t allow anyone to race for the King.’ Oyecomova declared. ‘I will have you dead, Officer Gyro Zeppeli.’

   Outside, the Explosion was much grander. The building turned to smithereens as smoke and fire bloomed inside of it like a budding flower. Debris scattered everywhere and there was a sharp bang.

   From it alone was more than enough to terrify Gyro and Johnny. Gyro leapt into a protected nook between buildings. Johnny lunged from his wheelchair and dived next to Gyro. They both fell on their arms and watched in horror as the hotel went from being a building to a ramshackle bonfire site.

   The clerks raced out from the office building. They screamed and shouted; able to verbalise their panic, unlike Gyro and Johnny who sputtered incoherently.

   As the smoke cleared, Gyro and Johnny saw glimpses of Mountain Tim. He was bloody and sprawled out but something had protected him through the worst of the Explosion. A creature made of blue and red rocks had shielded him; a Gigalith. It howled in pain and grief.

   Johnny pulled himself closer to his wheelchair whilst Gyro began to walk towards Mountain Tim.

   Mountain Tim’s Gigalith roared and swung out defensively towards Gyro. Gyro side-stepped it, alarmed but understanding in this situation.

   Mountain Tim sputtered. His body was moving; breathing.

   ‘S...Stop… Gyro, don’t come c-closer…’ Mountain Tim sputtered.

   ‘I can’t believe it… he’s still alive after all that!’ Johnny said; he had been hundred percent expectant of Mountain Tim being a corpse after that.

   Mountain Tim took a deep breath and let loose a loud shout; one that penetrated even the ringing in the ear.

   ‘Don’t come! Get away from me! He’s hiding somewhere close! He’s a fearsome Trainer!’

   Gyro and Johnny stiffened. Mountain Tim’s breathing was rough and heavy; left haggard on the ears. Gyro and Johnny prepared themselves for a dirty fight. The dust around the slowly began to settle and part.

   Oyecomova crept through the dust, almost silently, and he reached for one of the PokeBalls that Gyro had holstered. But, thankfully, Johnny had picked up on the slightest disruptions to an otherwise silent scene. The twitch of dust and a faint footstep was enough to alert him. But it was not Johnny who spoke up first. But rather, Mountain Tim who through doubling vision saw Oyecomova’s figure loom near Gyro’s waist.

   ‘He’s trying to disarm you! Don’t let him touch you!’ he yelled.

   Gyro swung out of Oyecomova’s way and protectively put his hands over his more vulnerable PokeBalls.

   ‘The hell is up with that cowboy’s luck? He shouldn’t be alive… mighty lucky that that Gigalith has Sturdy…’ Oyecomova muttered and he pulled back from his sneak attack on Gyro.

   With the dust settled and with Oyecomova, Gyro got a good look at Oyecomova and he’d know such eccentricity anywhere. The white makeup and even that tone of voice.

   ‘You!’ Gyro seethed.

   ‘Yes… Long time, no see… Gyro Zeppeli.’ Oyecomova’s voice sauntered through the remnants of the chaos he had caused.

   Oyecomova smirked as he locked eyes with Gyro. He gritted his teeth.

   ‘Well by the race’s rules, we must battle.’ Oyecomova taunted.

   ‘He uses dirty tricks: trading KO’s at huge risk! He’s the one who set off that Explosion in the hotel; be careful!’ Mountain Tim called out.  

   Oyecomova rolled his eyes. ‘Dude… you’re kind of telling him the obvious.’

   Johnny cautiously leaned in closer. ‘Hey, Gyro, he said… “long time, no see”.... Do you know him?’

   ‘Yeah. His name is Oyecomova. He’s a terrorist who blew up the King’s carriage with a bomb two years ago! The King wasn’t in it at the time, but five people, including two children, were killed. He was arrested and awaiting execution but he managed to escape. While he was in prison, he oddly enough had a bit of explosive powder with him. He put in the jail guard’s ear and murdered him. He broke out soon after.’ Gyro explained.

   Oyecomova shrugged and continued as per a casual conversation. He half smiled.

   ‘How’s your old man going?’ he inquired, almost politely. ‘I heard he retired from being an executioner, Gyro Zeppeli…. Taking responsibility for my breakout - and theft of my Pokemon. That’s understandable, he would feel that way after a subordinate’s death. Well, enough dilly-dallying, we’ve got things to do after all. Battles to be had.’ Oyecomova produced a PokeBall out of seeming thin air. ‘I am now going to begin my turn; I suggest you find a way to protect yourself - and real quick!’

   His hand tipped over and the PokeBall opened. Despite the silver flash, it was impossible to tell what Pokemon had come out of its PokeBall for it lurked within the dust that swirled thickly at Oyecomova’s feet. There was a moment of silence and then the appearance: the seemingly innocent appearance of a Pokemon, right in front of Gyro and right beneath his nose.

   The creature, shiny and tiny, looked up with gleaming eyes.

   ‘What… is that?’ Johnny said; certainly wasn’t any Pokemon that he’d ever see before.

   It was small and seemed more like a mineral or ore than a creature. It was blue and grey in colour with a white, almost fluffy ruff around its neck - the only suggestion of it being a somewhat organic creature. There was a deceptive aura about it but truth be told, its appearance kind of made Johnny want one for himself as it was very much to his team’s aesthetics. That was before realisation sunk in; as prompted by Mountain Tim.

   ‘You two, get away from that Carbink or protect yourselves! That thing is a bomb!’ Mountain Tim yelled.

   But aside from processing the sentence, there had been no time to act on it as Carbink exploded. Its body glowed white as it closed its eyes. The light it exuded sharpened; turned brighter before finally, exploding like a star gone supernova. For such a small creature, it produced quite the effect. Fire leapt out at Johnny and Gyro. Hot and searing; it scratched against their guts. Its blast swept the two young men aside like they were nothing more than leaves in the wind. They crashed into the closest building.

   They fell on their sides with a hefty thud. Their heads fell back and forth and vision blurred. In the wake of the explosion, yet more dust had flown into the air with great puffs. Somewhere in it all, there was a flash of silver - the return of the Carbink to its PokeBall, more likely than not - but then… there was a second flash of silver. Oyecomova had a transparent strategy but it was effective as all hell. This wasn’t a Pokemon battle. It was a fight where Pokemon were the weapons.

   ‘Are you okay… Gyro?’ Johnny croaked.

   ‘Just pissed off.’ Gyro muttered.

   ‘Watch out, Oyecomova already got his next assault ready… dunno if he’ll try the same thing for the third time in a row.’ Mountain Tim piped up.

   ‘Quite correct you are, Mountain Tim. I’ve thoroughly won this battle but, just to make sure, I do have something new planned; I will tell you that much.’ Oyecomova admitted.

   ‘Fuck…’ Gyro muttered as he tried to get up.

   Johnny dragged himself closer to his wheelchair; tipped aside in the explosion but thankfully undamaged. Gyro meanwhile was collecting himself in his own way. Despite the tingling pain, his hand was flopping for a PokeBall as his eyes scanned his surroundings for Oyecomova’s next Pokemon.

   ‘Use Toxic.’ Oyecomova said calmly.

   ‘Swaaalot!’

   A fearsome cry was heard from the thick of the dust. It began to settle but was ultimately parted unnaturally. Globs of purple goo cut through the air and dust swirled aimlessly out of its way; in tipsy curls. Gyro was the target of such an attack and he became soaked to the bone. At first, it didn’t hurt. It seemed harmless enough but his skin began to burn and become irritable.

   Oyecomova turned his back on his three enemies. He whistled and called over his Scolipede from where it had been idly grazing; well out of the blast zone of all these horrific attacks.

   ‘We can’t let him get away!’ Mountain Tim said. Despite his ragged state, he attempted to draw in closer; pulling himself closer to Oyecomova.

   Oyecomova sighed. ‘Whether I get away or not, it’s all over. You should be on Death’s door and Gyro can’t walk more than three steps - at most! - before succumbing to the powerful poisons that have been inflicted on him.’

   His hand patted the top of Swalot’s head. He smiled. He then returned his Swalot to its PokeBall and got onto Scolipede’s back.

   ‘What are we gonna do?’ Johnny asked.  

   ‘This!’ Gyro screamed. He hurled a PokeBall forward. ‘Go, go, Decibel!’

   From a streak of silver, a Pokemon that moved so fast it left blurs behind dashed out. A Linoone dashed at Oyecomova.

   ‘Use Slash, ‘Bel!’ Gyro yelled.

   His Linoone suddenly shot up at Oyecomova. It was like an arrow launched from a bow: beautiful but deadly precision. Its claws raked across Oyecomova’s front and left gashes in his clothes and scratches in his skin. It was like a warning. Gyro’s Linoone then used Oyecomova’s chest as a launch pad and it leapt at the ground. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it was off and racing again but this time back towards Gyro.

   It returned to his side and reared up on its hind-legs, as though expecting praise. Gyro held onto its shoulders. He felt a bit queasy but he also felt insanely good after watching his dear and precious Decibel the Linoone attack Oyecomova like that.

   Spooked by the attack, Oyecomova dashed off on the back of his Scolipede. For now, they would let him get the head start. Gyro glared at Oyecomova’s back.

   ‘We won’t let him get away…’ Gyro decided. ‘Hey, Johnny, I’ve seen you keep berries ‘round, you got any left.’

   ‘I left my supplies in the hotel… and well, the hotel’s everywhere right now.’

   ‘Okay, new plan, you said you like girly Pokemon. You got like a Blissey or an Audino?’

   ‘No.’

   ‘Fuck me! Okay, any Pokemon at all that knows like… Aromatherapy or something?’

   ‘Angel knows Moonlight and I’ve got a Jumpluff that knows Synthesis; together, that’s only ten heals.’

   ‘That’s not great, could be better but I’ll make do... Okay, Mountain Tim?’

   Gyro hazarded a glance at Mountain Tim. The man was almost passed out.

   ‘I have a Miltank which knows Milk Drink but…’ Mountain Tim replied as he began to fidget with the shrunken PokeBalls that he kept holstered on his belt.

   ‘Yeah, that won’t work for me but at least we know you’ll be fine. Okay, new plan, I didn’t want it to come to this but Johnny and I, we’ll head out to the Zombie Salamence since it can heal fatigue and wounds, and let’s pray that means poison as well. Angel’ll keep me going so I don’t die before I even get to Valkyrie. Meanwhile, Tim, you let your Miltank heal you. Sounds like a plan?’

   ‘Sounds like a doable plan.’ Johnny agreed. ‘We’ll definitely get back at Oyecomova when we catch up; he doesn’t have that big a lead on us.’

   Johnny let his Clefairy out of its PokeBall whilst he and Gyro left Mountain Tim behind. His Miltank was horrified to see the state its Trainer was in and was quick to get to work. So, it didn’t take long for Gyro’s little plan to be set into motion.

   Jumpluff flew in tow with both Gyro and Johnny. Flitting about like the carefree tumbleweed that it was in a previous life. Still, it understood that if Gyro called out “Synthesis” to it then it meant that it had to obey him, and now. Clefairy, meanwhile, rode with Gyro in his lap like the little, spoilt brat that was; not that Gyro minded, of course, being as affectionate as he was with his - and other’s - Pokemon. At this point, it definitely seemed like it preferred Gyro over Johnny; which was quite shameful.

   Gyro was doing well despite the poison condition. His skin was turning red and agitated like a Tamato Berry but he wasn’t complaining or dying for that matter. Still, Johnny was concerned as he rode just that tiny bit behind Gyro and his Mudsdale.

   As they raced in closer to Oyecomova, Gyro turned around and yelled at Johnny:

   ‘Johnny, he’s my enemy; I’ll finish him off before he gets to them icy mountains over there, alright? This is my country’s problem; not yours!’

   ‘No, Gyro.’ Johnny replied, resolute. ‘I’m coming with you.’

   He omitted that he wanted to help. That he wanted to battle.

   ‘Listen… That terrorist is running from us now but I’m telling you, he’s still just as dangerous. I’m sure Oyecomova is thinking of a way to kill me right now.’

   Though he was thinking of Gyro, Johnny remained thinking of himself and it was that aspect of himself that was brought to the conversation.

   ‘I want to see it. This Zombie Salamence; that gift from the King… thing. That thing is supposed to heal all wounds; if it can fix poison… do you think it could… what about my legs?’

   ‘Look… don’t expect anything weird. And, I’m saying this now but you’re not suited for battle; not one like this anyway. You’re going to be in the way.’

   ‘I don’t like to listen to other people’s orders and I haven’t received anybody’s help either. Since the beginning of the race, I’ve been involved with you. It’s too late to go our separate ways now.’

   Gyro couldn’t help but remember that wry remark of his from the other day. It was going to be a one-two finish. Him in first place with five badges and Johnny in second with three. He couldn’t help but wonder what made him say such an optimistic thing to Johnny but he didn’t exactly regret it either even though that word was probably their bond.

   In this part of the forest, the number of waterholes was marked on the map and there was one before them. It was bigger than either of them had expected; bigger than a dam or similar. It was more akin to a lake in size, perhaps, however, it was quite shallow; barely lapping at their mounts’ ankles. It was surrounded by sparse trees though and rocky outcrops that were tall and sturdy-looking.

   As they gained on Oyecomova, he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t tell yet if this environment would become advantageous or disadvantageous for him; let alone Gyro. He needed to know more about Gyro and his team. Moreover, how far could he control his Pokemon from; not to mention their PokeBalls. How far could they be thrown?

   Oyecomova thought about it logically, he decided due to the town being an enclosed space, there was no need to throw far. Twenty metres as a maximum seemed reasonable; a little more and orders would be lost across communication. His choice of Linoone likely meant that it was one of his fastest Pokemon and he wasn’t exactly one for intimidation tactics either so it likely wasn’t to lull Oyecomova into a false sense of security.

   Still, any closer and it would likely put Oyecomova in a position wherein Gyro could kill him. However, any further and he would lose the easiest distance in which he could kill them without risking himself or his partner Pokemon. With the difficult landscape, it was going to be tricky.

   But fortunately, there were other ways to master murder. Oyecomova produced a canteen from his belongings. He uncapped it and began to pour outs its contents. A stream of brown liquid flowed out.

   ‘Gyro, shit, that’s petrol or something: he’s gonna light up this river!’ Johnny yelled. ‘We’ve got to get out of the water!’

   His Zebstrika squealed as he commanded it to rear up. Johnny returned his Jumpluff to its Pokeball as it was vulnerable being in the air as a grass type. For now, his Clefairy would remain fine with Gyro should he make good decisions. Gyro and his Mudsdale continued to charge forward.

   ‘Johnny, don’t let your Zebstrika hesitate! We keep going forward, don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. We’ll finish him off in fifteen… no, twenty metres of here! I promise!

   ‘The moment the accelerant explodes, we can use that to accelerate ourselves, and we’ll run right through. The mounts will move forward about four metres. It would’ve been worse trying to get out and through the rocks.’

   Johnny gritted his teeth but he trusted Gyro so he continued to charge forth by Gyro’s side. He tried to pay no heed to how the oil floated on top of the water but it was spreading, quickened by the natural waves of the water. Then it dropped; just a small flame that no doubt a matchstick.

   The instant in which the accelerant erupted, there was a great transfer of heat and energy through the air. It burnt Johnny’s exposed skin but he could feel the adrenaline pulse inside of him as his self-preservation instinct went ignored. However, his Zebstrika and Gyro’s Mudsdale used that push of hot-and-cold air to further their own leaps. It was terrifying to charge through the flame but they did it nonetheless.

   They made it out of that situation fine. Petrified but no obvious burns; or at least nothing that couldn’t be fixed up by that Zombie Salamence. The fire soon burned out behind them but smoke clung to the muggy air.

   Oyecomova glanced behind him. ‘Gyro Zeppeli,’ he mused, ‘he got cocky and accelerated, just as expected… But I’m not running from you; I’m forcing you into this waterhole!’

   Oyecomova’s voice suddenly pierced the air and soon came the grand reveal of his bigger plan.

   ‘There’s a waterfall, Gyro!’ Johnny yelled as he realised the rush of water was peculiar.

   Two outcrops that bore long, lush grass marked where the land suddenly cut off. In the middle of the channel, Oyecomova’s Scolipede reared up and ceased its charging, likely so it could escape. Johnny had almost forgotten about it on the map but he recalled from yesterday when he was checking out surrounding areas.

   ‘Charge right up, we’re not slowing down!’ Gyro commanded. ‘We have to climb up at the same speed as the water!’

   The grass on the outcrops began to shake oddly. From the tall grass, emerged a horde of Amoonguss and a few Foongus were dotted in between their mob. They all looked equally as annoyed as each other. They were most likely aggravated by the pollution of their wetlands and were likely out for revenge.

   Despite the threat they posed, Oyecomova sailed on straight past them. So now, dealing with them would be passed onto Johnny and Gyro. Johnny unclipped a PokeBall from his waist. He was determined.

   ‘Skies the Limit!’ he called out.

   From a sublime, silver light, an Unfezant unfurled its wings and took to the air.

  Johnny glanced at Gyro, ‘I’ll have Skies use Air Slash; if you have a plan and don’t want me interfering, now’s the time to let me know.’

   ‘No, that’s good, I’ll let you handle that then, Johnny - just so long as you keep pace, of course.’ Gyro said, overconfident and even a touch cheeky as he continued to charge forward.

   ‘Skies, use Air Slash on the wild Amoonguss!’ Johnny yelled.

   ‘Go, go, Decibel and Problem Child!’ Gyro yelled as he brought out his two Pokemon. ‘Both of ya, use Surf!’

   Their three Pokemon seemed to synchronise beneath their Trainer’s commands. Linoone and Bibarel raced by each other’s sides whilst Johnny’s Unfezant flew above them. With a beautiful twirl, razor-sharp slices of air rolled off of Unfezant’s wings. The slashes crisscrossed against the two outcrops. The Amoonguss were terrified by the attack and soon ducked back into hiding, not wanting to risk a battle they couldn’t win even with numbers on their side.

   Linoone and Bibarel, meanwhile, took command of the water. The very currents that surged past them became bent to their will. The water rose up with a great foaming curl at its crest. The wave grew gigantic and with a heavy splash, it dragged Oyecomova and his mount beneath the water.

    Oyecomova struggled to breathe underwater. His Scolipede pawed at the water and soon became quite waterlogged. Inside his head, his veins bulged and vessels even burst as every bit of air in his lungs became replaced by water. Soon, enough he was drowning. Choking.

   Gyro and Johnny burst past where Oyecomova once stood. Their Pokemon rejoined them by their sides and were soon snatched up by a return. Gyro and Johnny soon made it dry land once more. The satisfying thud of hooves on the ground was quite the symphony after that. They glanced over their shoulders. It looked as though Oyecomova had washed up. His hands were twitching; he was face down in the mud and as blue as the water that lapped at his waist. He might be fine if the medics find him in time but even then, only the death penalty awaited a terrorist like him regardless.

   ‘Keep on running, Johnny, in this race… first and second place are still ours for the taking!’ Gyro announced.


	22. VS THE ZOMBIE SALAMENCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Gyro arrive in the field of the Zombie Salamence; a peculiar and holy place in the shadow of the Dragonspiral Tower.

   It was hard to gauge how long it had been since arriving near the Zombie Salamence -  as directed by the instructions Gyro had been given in a letter - and leaving behind Oyecomova and the incident there. All Johnny knew was that daylight all seemed the same beneath the foliage of the forest. It’s not like he could judge by how sore his legs were either.

   Well, Gyro wasn’t dead from poisoning yet so that was a good sign but Johnny’s Clefairy had run out of power to perform “Moonlight” quite some time ago and by his count, his Jumpluff had maybe one “Synthesis” left in it. Still, they had better find this Zombie Salamence thing soon before Gyro succumbed completely to poison. He really was looking like a Tamato Berry at this point: rough, reddened skin and swollen lips.

   Johnny was having a hard time trying to get his head around what a Zombie Salamence was. He’s happened upon a few alive Salamence specimens in his time but not a dead one and especially not a “zombie” one. Though, now that they were approaching a clearing with a peculiar aura, Gyro seemed more willing to give a hint.

   Up until this area, the forest had been thick and hard to navigate. Though, there was something very peculiar in the distance. Johnny had recognised it by the aura alone, that building was Dragonspiral Tower. He hadn’t ever been there personally, but he had heard of it. It was a very strange place, built to commemorate the lives of the dragons of truth and ideal. They said that it could fill people with strange energies and lead them to the path they ought to take. Clearly that was fake because he felt no such persuasion, but he had to admit, it was gorgeous though broken down. It was so big that it humbled him. Seeing it reminded Johnny that humans were ingenious. Even though the Isshu folk didn’t like to be overly exertive of the land, they were still capable of castles; there was Relic Castle in the Desert Resort too, after all.

    Anyway, they twined around a path leading to a meadow that seemed untouched by tree roots. It was small and sort of squarish with rounded edges. The grass was pale here but beautiful. It wasn’t yellow though. It looked kind of downy too. If Johnny had to guess, this meadow was maybe ten metres perfect. In the middle of it was a strangely coloured rock.

   He and Gyro rode up to it. The rock was made of a substance Johnny wasn’t familiar with it. It wasn’t grainy or coarse, but it wasn’t perfectly smooth or soft either. He was afraid to touch it but Gyro, he stroked it lovingly.

   He and his Mudsdale padded around it. ‘Ah!’ he called out after going to the other side. ‘Found it!’

   Johnny curiously drew in. ‘Found what?’

   Then his eyes lit up as he saw a bizarre etching. It looked like a vague semblance Salamence that was ready to attack. As an artwork, it was not something one may call beautiful. It most certainly did not belong in a gallery.

   Johnny stared into the creature’s eyes. It had odd eyes: a pair of jewels. Coloured mostly blue, it was hard to ascertain what was depicted in them; some sort of double helix, by the look of it. They gleamed in the sunlight and flashed with all the colours of the rainbow. It was rather enchanting.

   Overall, he wasn’t certain but given the location and general power emanating from this zone, but he had a suspicion that this place might be sacred. Salamence aren’t usually found in the wild and Bagon aren’t found in this area either. Still, it was odd such a thing like a Salamence would be memorialised here. It might be a deity thing. There was such a hallowed feeling to the stone and to the meadow. Johnny could barely believe Gyro was just feeling it up like he was.

   Gyro placed his palm over where the Salamence’s heart would be. He closed his eyes and smiled. He inhaled deeply and exhaled. Then something peculiar began to happen. The hair on his arms and even his messy locks began to lift. His dirty blond hair seemed to be purified: turned to gold. Johnny could hardly believe his eyes. Then, the curing process began.

   Gyro’s reddened skin turned to back to normal. His lips shrank slightly in size and the bumps he had reduced. He was rid of his poisoning.

   He let his hand slip from the rock’s surface. He beamed at Johnny. His hair flopped down around his face; over his eyes.

   ‘I feel like a new man!’ he enthused.

   His skin now looked baby soft. His hair was removed of any grease and even his breath seemed fresher now.

   ‘So, this is it? The power of the Zombie Salamence?’ Johnny asked.

   He licked his lips as he tried his luck. He did as Gyro did. He placed his hand over the Salamence’s heart.

   ‘According to studies done, the Zombie Salamence was built over a sealed volcano that never really did anything except warm up a little. That warmth had healing properties; especially since local peoples here embalmed it very thickly with all sorts of salves. It’s bit of a shamanistic technique, but hey, it works.’ Gyro explained.

   Johnny waited a moment. Nothing happened. He waited another moment. Again, nothing happened. He didn’t even feel the slightest tingle of the warmth Gyro had just explained.

   ‘Gyro… it’s not working.’ Johnny stated.

   ‘Weird, maybe it's single use?’ Gyro said. ‘You're definitely placing your hand on its heart… And that’s what the instructions in the letter said. Why don’t you see if anything happens if your Jumpluff or Clefairy touch it? Exhausted little things they would be after keeping me alive.’

   ‘Alright.’ Johnny said. He fumbled with his PokeBalls. ‘Judy, Angel…’

   His Pokemon popped out of their PokeBalls in a flash. Johnny held them up to the stone so that they could place their paws on the Zombie Salamence’s heart. Not even a second after coming in contact with the stone, his Pokemon were basked in a nigh angelic light. After soaking it in for a few seconds, his Clefairy and Jumpluff were totally refreshed.

   Johnny frowned as he returned his Pokémon. ‘Nope, don’t think its single use.’

   ‘Weird.’ Gyro said. He fumbled with the conversation. He wasn’t sure what to say to Johnny that wasn’t the blinding obvious.

   Nevertheless, Johnny tried a second time.

   ‘Heal my legs, you asshole deity, I know you’re some kind of quasi-god, do it or you’re a coward.’ Johnny snarled.

   ‘The hell are you on about?’ Gyro asked, raising an eyebrow and putting a hand on his hip. ‘Johnny, the Second Commandment states that thou shalt not have false idols.’

   Johnny glared at Gyro. ‘I literally did not ask you.’ he huffed.

   He then returned his glare to the Salamence. He stared right into its two eyes comprised of jewels. He maintained such a firm stare for a good minute before the eyes literally popped out of their sockets in the Salamence’s face. Startled, Johnny yelped.

   He swung out slightly over his Zebstrika’s side. He saw the two jewels glinting on the ground beneath him.

   ‘Johnny, you insulted the Zombie Salamence so hard you made it cry.’ Gyro joked.

   ‘Shut up. I know you don’t believe in that.’ Johnny growled. He pursed his lips. ‘Do you want to pick them up, or should I?’

   ‘Why you scared you’ll pick up a curse from it?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Yes and no!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Mostly because it’s just a hassle to dismount and get back up here and… yeah, okay, I don’t want to mess with the Zombie Salamence more than I already have just in case it does turn out to be some kind of quasi-god.’

   ‘Ugh, fine.’ Gyro conceded.

   He slung himself off his Mudsdale’s back. Johnny pointed out the jewels whilst he scrabbled around in the grass. Gyro picked them up and placed them over his eyes. He made a silly face. Johnny was somewhat amused.

   ‘Are these Unovan gems?’ Gyro asked. ‘Pretty little things, never seen these sorts in my life, and I’ve seen all sorts of prize jewels in my time.’

   ‘I’ve never seen anything like them in my life either.’ Johnny replied. ‘I was hoping you’d know what they are.’

   ‘I think we should keep ‘em.’ Gyro said.

   ‘What, why? That’s like... Theft!’ Johnny protested. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that against the Commandments you follow? Thou shalt not steal, that’s it.’

   ‘The Zombie Salamence, ugly mural and all, was a gift from the King to me. If I pinch its eyes, then it doesn’t count as stealing because they were given to me. And same for you, I’m regifting. A bit rude, yes, but not illegal and not against the Commandments.’ Gyro reasoned.

   ‘I suppose.’ Johnny said. ‘So, you just want to pawn them?’

   ‘I’ve just got this hunch that they might be useful down the road, you know? If it's for money then yeah but if it is for something else… say we meet a pair of pretty ladies, twins perhaps, and fall madly in love with them, then we’d need rings, yes? These’d make fantastic engagement rings.’

   ‘You think you’re going to need engagement ring materials on this trip?’

   ‘It was just an example, Johnny! You think too much. Do you want one or not?’

   ‘Ugh, fine.’

   Johnny accepted one of the jewels from Gyro. It was cool to the touch and sparkled in his palm. He had to admit it. He did kind of feel that intuition Gyro was alluding to. Johnny too felt it, the strange and baseless hunch that this tiny little rock may become necessary further on.

   Johnny pinched it between his fingers and placed it on his brow; where it sat between the decorative horseshoe he had mounted on his beanie.

   ‘Look, I’m wearing a tiara.’ he said, almost shy since making jokes wasn’t his thing.

   Gyro rolled his eyes. ‘Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…’ he said patronisingly. ‘Telling jokes is all in the delivery. Something as flat as that would never, ever be funny - not even from my mouth and I am genuinely talented at comedy. Besides, more importantly, you make a very ugly princess.’

   ‘Fuck off.’ Johnny snapped, in good jest, of course.

   To which was met with some laughter from Gyro as he mounted his Mudsdale once more.

   ‘Come on, we need to make up for lost time after our little adventure. Not to mention, we still haven’t seen that chosen trainer fella yet. Bloody hell, I thought he was supposed to be nearby. By the time we find him, someone might’ve already taken the Badge.’ Gyro grumbled.

   ‘Alright, alright, let’s get going then.’ Johnny sighed.

   He took the reins and Zebstrika shook its head. It began to trot off, not too far behind Mudsdale.

   ‘Hey, so that letter, is it really from the King of Kalos?’ Johnny piped up. ‘Sounds like a tall tale to me.’

   ‘I can assure you Johnny on my life, it is from the King of Kalos.’

   ‘That’s not some pet name or joke you have with your father or someone?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘My old man has never written a letter in his life. He has never received a letter in life. And those are not facts that will change anytime soon.’ Gyro replied. ‘You can mostly certainly bet that on my life.’


	23. VS THE OLD WORLD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The existence of an impossible map becomes known to Stephen Steel.

   In the old world, the region that was known once as Isshu but now Unova, there is a story of twin heroes and two legendary, almost godlike Pokémon. Representative of truth and ideal, their story is that of tragedy.

   Stepping out of seeming nothingness, came a small family known as the Tao Trio and a dragon. They were placed upon a gorgeous land and given the divine direction to cultivate it. To create a home for themselves. That land was to be called Isshu.

   The older brother sought the ideals of the world. He wished to pursue philosophy. He held a belief that he had purpose in the world. He often spent time pondering humanity’s place alongside Pokémon. He wanted to live a peaceful life of understanding. The Isshu that he wished to forge across the land was that of humble origins. People are born, they live, and then they die: they return to the waters in which they were born from. Perhaps, their soul remained. Lingered upon this mortal coil and became part of the winds and dusts of the region.

   The older brother did not believe in grandiose displays of ostentatious wealth or ownership. He believed in ideal that was that people were as much as an extension of the land as the Pokemon and as the flora. For there to be peace, there had to be balance. Good could not exist without evil. To avoid harm, perhaps it ought to be a land of each to their own: wanderers and nomads; those who settled and those who would only know their land. Therefore, Isshu ought to be a land of loosely connected simplicity.

   The older brother, he somewhat sheltered his young brother. As such, the younger brother came to desire truths. He had his own worldview. Yes, his brother was the most important person in his life, but they had a disagreement. The younger brother believed that the Isshu that they forge together should be one of unity. He believed strongly in the idea that all people and Pokemon are inherently good and therefore incapable of betraying the deepest, most intrinsic kindness. The Isshu that the young brother desired was one built upon sentimentality. His Isshu would be one of familial bonds that extended countless distances.

   These twins shared a magnificent Pokémon the likes of which the world had never known - and have not known since. It was powerful and flowed with all the energies of truth and ideal. It was a dragon by nature but tamed. It would be the beast to help these heroes forge their ideal Isshu as per their fate.

   Unfortunately, as the brothers grew older, their base values continued to deepen. These values became the core of the twin heroes’ very essence. As they journeyed through the land and sought challenges to strengthen themselves and their dragon, they met all sorts of people. These people, they all belonged on a spectrum of truth and ideal. Some agreed with the older brother, some agreed with the younger brother, and then there were people with no opinion at all. Still, it was informative, but it was also what brought them to the brink of catastrophe.

   The twin heroes began to fight. From the internal conflict, their beloved and faithful dragon was torn into two: unable to pick aside so it separated itself. To the older brother, a dragon known as “Reshiram” sided with it: a gorgeous dragon with white feathers and azure eyes. It could breathe a powerful and gorgeous flame from its mouth and was able to resist heats unknown This dragon would come to represent ideals.

   And to the younger brother, the dragon known as “Zekrom” was born. It was a ferocious looking creature that hardened, black scales and vermillion eyes. Its call could summon horrific storms and its will came as swift strikes of lightning. This dragon would come to represent truths.

   From the original dragon, its skin became a husk that grew deathly cold.

   The twin brothers, with their twin dragons, by their sides decided to settle their conflict through a righteous duel. Their dragons clashed and clashed. The elements of fire and thunder at war with themselves in a seemingly useless cycle. The creatures, the brothers, were evenly matched. No side could conquer the other and so, the land they had sworn to unite, and foster turned to ashes.

   That was, until, their younger sister who had abided by them both in the best and worst of times came forward. She was much younger than them both but allegedly, as wise as time itself. Though she was a gentle soul who believed in equilibrium, she had never once taken up arms - let alone against her dear older brothers, but she did.

   With a caring caress upon the husk that was once the original dragon, she was able to awaken what was left of the creature’s sentience. From her kindness, it awoke and a new being was born. A Pokémon that would come to represent neutrality, or what is left when there is neither truth nor ideal. A creature of ice yet unafraid of fire and lightning, it would fight. A creature of grey scales with lifeless, yellow eyes, a creature to be known as Kyurem.

   Under the sister’s command, Kyurem’s roar parted the fighting and its master strode through the chaos. She was unafraid of the burnings surrounding her as she waded through the charred land that was once beautiful Isshu towards her brothers.

   Seeing their sister fight using her own method which was peace, the twin heroes came to a realisation wrought with despair over their actions. So, the fire burnt out and the thunderclouds which had brought lightning dispersed. Isshu was no longer in danger but the conflict hadn’t been resolved.

   The only answer to the questions that the twin heroes were asking was that there was no answer.

   Isshu did not require absolutes. It required a nuanced vision in order to construct a region in which all the people of it could be satisfied. As so, the brothers parted. The older brother became a nomad. With him, he took those who were migratory, and they became the types of people without fixed homes. They called rest wherever they laid. For them, it was good enough and they developed lifestyles and cultures around the principle of change and travel. This was their simplicity; there was to be no return for that would-be sentimentality.

   The younger brother, however, chose a plot of land and with those who agreed with him, he constructed a society which suited him. He and his people raised crops and secured a lifestyle that was fixed. The only change was the betterment of buildings. This was their sentimentality; there was to be an utmost cherishing of the past for without it, they would have nothing.

   As for the sister, it is unknown as to what happened to her. After all, there are no solid records of these siblings, just tall tales. Some speculate she journeyed to Alola after these events, but others say that she passed away not long after she and her brothers made their pact.

   Before this Tao Trio parted, they made a pact. They promised each other that they would no longer fight and use the dragons as their weapons. The dragons known as Reshiram and Zekrom were deemed too powerful so as much as it saddened the siblings, they made the decision to seal the dragons away. The consecrated bodies of the dragons were then scattered across Isshu so that their power may never resurrect and cause calamity. As an unexpected effect, without the original dragons’ existences, Kyurem ceased to exist. Its body turned to an icy stone also.

   For a long time, it was unknown if this was true. This story belongs to a larger pantheon of beliefs of animism and multiple gods. Now, in 1890, it is hard to decipher if there could be any truth to it. After all, it seemed quite far-fetched. It had to be the lore of the Isshu-man to describe how the land had come to its unusual land shape. Not to mention, it totally contradicted what the colonising Kalosians believed so it was deemed heathen-like and as a result, purposefully destroyed and defiled so that it aligned with the monotheistic worldview of the Kalosian people.

   Due to the destructive intervention of Kalosian people, most of that story had been lost and had become fragmented. Old families carried different stories with different influences. However, the existence of the sister had become obscurity until a discovery of a map.

   The map was uncovered in a tomb in Alola a century and half after the Kalosian conquest of Unova in 1607. The map was a relic belonging to a woman named Lili; an immigrant woman famed somewhat in the area as one capable of speaking to the deities. Some records of her likened her to that of a saint but the truth of her renown is much simpler. She was likely a theistic scholar or something akin.

   Lili was a journeywoman from Isshu who famously crossed to Alola, wherein she naturalised, and with the local people, she helped construct the Ruins of Conflict of Melemele Island; this happened before the Kalosian calendar, allegedly. Her motives for her pilgrimage to Alola are unknown as are how she even crossed to Alola.

   Still, her map of Isshu era Unova became famous as the way she had drawn it. Had it not been for the outside detailing of her map, indicating that this land was in close proximity to Alola, people would have assumed that the drawing depicted a fantasy realm. The shape was unrecognisable as Unova for it was missing the peninsulas which Unova was famous for. However, it was the markings on her map that truly caught the imagination. It was unknown if those were settlements or if it was simply marking out safe camping spots for nomads. These cross-like markings were scattered across the map; nine in total and in whole, not all of them corresponded with a landmark such as a town, city, or even natural feature of the landscape like a waterfall or the like.

   With the world always evolving with curiosities and peculiarities is unsurprising to decree that Lili’s map did not remain famous for long. It took two, perhaps three, years before it became an obscure curiosity. Though at some point, this map was stolen, and it is unknown if it was destroyed or if it still in some thief’s ancestor’s safe keeping.

   It’s fate unknown that is, until 1890 and now Stephen Steel is looking at its parchment perfection. He can’t believe it. He’d heard legends of it during his travels in Alola but at this point, he didn’t think it was real. It had to be fake. This had to be some replication of it. But he knew better. He knew far better to grip onto such skepticism and denial; not when he was faced with what he knows.

   Within the seeming simplicity of such a statement - Mr Steel had come face to face with a legendary map - there is quite complexities surrounding it. There are two circumstances surrounding such a sentence. One of which involves someone in conjunction of himself and the other of which involves two young heroes who have yet to realise their courageous mantle.


	24. VS F.V STROHEIM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyro and Johnny encounter another terrorist along the route. The fight appears to have left Johnny with a minor injury but strange things are beginning to occur.

   The second involvement of certain complexities involves two young men who are approximately twenty-five kilometres out from a Unovan landmark known as Tubeline Bridge.

   The Tubeline Bridge connected the westernmost part of Unova to the central part of Unova. It was somewhat famous: beautiful thing, it was. People would often remark on how big and sturdy it was. They would say it was a testament to humanity’s ingenuity. Completely unmissable, even from a distance against the blurred blue of sky and sea. It was a complex tangle to steel beams in diamond-like patterns. It didn’t usually see a lot of traffic, but it was known for being a part of an important trade route so those who did use it were often hefting all sorts of heavy loads.

   Route Nine was on this side of the Tubeline Bridge. It tied onto Opelucid City and as a general rule, Route Nine was a gorgeously mild forested area often swept up in playful breezes and other good weather. On this side of the Tubeline Bridge was Route Eight which was tied to Icirrus City and it could be promised that any day of the week, it would be a horrid place to traverse with all its wet moors and random elevations of the mushy ground.

   Johnny and Gyro were currently speeding through marshy, swampy terrain. Route Eight was proving to its reputation by being terrible underfoot. This was both helpful and unhelpful as they were currently the targets of a hot pursuit from an unknown assailant. The way Johnny and Gyro saw it was if they were struggling then surely their mystery attacker would be to. However, all things considered for their strengths, Zebstrika and Mudsdale were fairing excellently against their contender which was a larger than average sized Gogoat.

   Their enemy contender seemed to be an unusual man. He had a rectangular head and he sat proudly upon his mount’s back with the straightest spine conceivable. He wore a militaristic uniform that was a jade green. Over one eye, which bugged demonically, as a result, was some sort of glass device strapped to it. He had a very grave appearance about him which manifested as a most serious determination to battle. Something Gyro and Johnny would rather avoid with cliffs - and presumably a President’s chosen Trainer - somewhere so close by.

   As hooves scraped through unfortunately soft grounds, Gyro looked over his shoulder and called out to Johnny.

   ‘That guy’s Gogoat must be on steroids! It’s twenty-five kilometres to the goal. He’s either got some crazy technique or he’s just doping! Otherwise, he wouldn’t want to challenge us like this… You know? I’ve just decided; he must be doping! Who is this guy anyway, do you know him?’

   Johnny turned back. He analysed that man’s features and tried to work out who he was from that, and from the papers he had picked up on the first day of the race. Of course, he did the latter from memory so there was potential for misinformation.

   ‘F.V Stroheim.’ Johnny was quite certain of this statement. ‘He’s Kalosian and he placed seventh in the First Stage. Let’s let him pass, Gyro! We should avoid unnecessary conflict because it won’t be good if our mounts get exhausted here. They won’t make it to the goal.’

   ‘No, Johnny! We shouldn’t let him get close; we don’t want any strangers near us. If we can make it to the bridge, that’d be fantastic because my Valkyrie here does very well on steel!’

   That sounded all well and good, but Johnny had a bad feeling. He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened as Stroheim pulled a gun. The gun the likes of which he had never seen before.

   Stroheim supported his forearm with his right hand. His left forearm appeared to have been lopped off once before as some sort of complex mechanization replaced his left hand. This mechanization was akin to a canon but far more complex. The inside of it began to heat up.

   ‘Shit, Gyro!’ Johnny screeched. ‘He’s pulled some sort of weapon! He’s a terrorist!’

   Gyro whipped around whilst Johnny surged forward. Gyro already had two PokeBalls in his palms. They spun but he didn’t even get the opportunity to launch them before Stroheim shot at him. From his weaponised gauntlet, a barrage of bullets sprayed out. A plume of orange, an explosion, and smoke burst out and hid the bullets. But the bullets proved faster: like a light infantry of soldiers, they charged in a single line.

   It was mostly the panic, at first, that caused both Gyro and Johnny to fly off their mounts. For Johnny, he was able to keep his hands tight on his reins, so he mostly slipped from his saddle. As for gyro, things were quite a bit more serious for him as the bullets Stroheim had shot found a good target in Gyro’s lower midsection; about his waist or below his ribcage, perhaps.

   Gyro was completely shaken from his saddle. His Mudsdale surged forward without him, right at the back of Zebstrika’s tail. Gyro pounded into the ground. The bullets no doubt making holes of him but strangely enough, there was no blood. The dredges of momentum pushing him into a grey outcropping of rock.

   Stroheim kept approaching. He kept shooting. Soon enough, Johnny’s hands were too slick with sweat to keep holding on, so he fell with a great thud into the grass and mud. Stroheim pulled up near Gyro. He clinically assessed Gyro before deciding to shoot indiscriminately. Gyro howled in pain but there was something off about how sounded. He did sound like he was in pain but more in vein with the pain a sulky Liepard felt when it wanted its Trainer to know it had a tiny bur in its paw. In other words, Gyro just sounded over dramatic.

   Stroheim raised an eyebrow. He noticed such a falsity to Gyro’s tone of voice. Gyro began to pull himself up. His face screwed up: the tip of his nose curled back towards his forehead and one eye bulging as his lips pouted horrifically. He glared at Stroheim; met his eyes, unfortunately.

   ‘Y...You son of a bitch.’ Gyro cursed. ‘Gah! That fuckin’ hurts!’

   He cracked his neck and his face turned fine; no damage at all. Gyro drew in his sprawled-out legs closer to himself. In both palms, his PokeBalls spun and Stroheim came to understand what had just happened. His stern expression not unlike a gash upon his face as he also realised that he was now locked into the race’s niceties of Pokémon battle. It made no difference in his opinion, he had already planned to sic his Pokémon on his enemies earlier.

   ‘Ze Spin of ze Steel PokeBalls…’ he mused, an accent marred his voice - an accent completely unlike Gyro’s which was flowery as compared to the iciness Stroheim spoke with. ‘It has ze power to carve certain things and control certain body muscles. It looks like it can make ze skin hard enough to bounce even bullets back.’

   Gyro’s arms were strangely gnarled; like the branches of an ancient tree. These bizarre grooves were no doubt proof of Stroheim’s theory. Johnny even recognised the grooves as part of lesson number one. Gyro threw the PokeBall in his right hand forward; he allowed the one in his left-hand palm to remain as it was, spinning and keeping him safe from bullet damage. He eyed up Stroheim and was fully expectant of another barrage.

   Stroheim’s human hand hovered on the shell of a PokeBall. He flicked it off and it was like watching some sort of bomb roll to the ground and await its detonation timer. The PokeBall shook and tilted; the button on it flashing between silver and red as it tried to unleash whatever creature was inside of it. Gyro just hoped it would be a good match against his partner.

   Stroheim shot Gyro, perhaps not taking the chance. Better to incapacitate the Trainer before the partner Pokémon can see it and take revenge; as is the way in some cases.

   ‘Fuck you!’ Gyro shrieked as Stroheim shot at his arms.

   The bullet narrowly missed; perhaps off by a millimetre. It dug into the rock behind him but damn, if it didn’t leave hairs on Gyro’s arms singed.

   ‘Go, go, Jailbreak.’ Gyro muttered; now fully pissed off.

   From his green coloured, steel PokeBall, burst a giant and most fearsome creature. His mighty Aggron took to defending him. It tipped its head backwards, its horns gleamed in the sunlight, as it let rip a terrifying growl from its hard-line jaw of steel.

   The PokeBall Stroheim had dropped fully opened. In a silver flash, his chosen Pokémon appeared. A lithe but fragile Pokémon shook free from the silver light; a Houndoom. It met Aggron’s battle cry with a petrifying howl of its own as it pawed at the ground.

   This was a match-up that could go either way, but Gyro felt like he had the upper hand. Though fire could melt steel, rock could subjugate fire. His beautiful little darling Aggron also had quite the propensity for attack and defense compared to Houndoom who was like spun glass before the strengths of his Aggron. Gyro grinned, snickered confidently, which is exactly why Stroheim decided to change strategies since he was obviously at the disadvantage.

   With one barrel facing Gyro, Stroheim produced a regular old pistol and aimed it at Johnny. Johnny was covered in mud and half-crawling towards Gyro but now, he had stopped. Coincidentally, as had the mounts having realised something was wrong as their saddles were empty.

   ‘Quit with ze battle, Gyro Zeppeli… or I shoot your friend and your Pokémon.’ Stroheim warned.

   Though Gyro was sick to the stomach over what could go wrong, he didn’t even need a second to decide. He would go through with the battle.

   ‘Jailbreak…’ Gyro sighed, shrugged. ‘Use Rock Tomb.’

   Johnny lifted his head; eyes widened. Even Stroheim couldn’t believe Stroheim’s decision and it was that moment of disbelief and shock that Gyro was exactly after. After all, his Aggron for all her beauty, she was a little slow and would need the time to process and to attack.

   Out of thin air, it began to rain boulders. Aggron’s coarse voice filled the air as the beige boulders began to crash down over Stroheim, his mount, and his mongrel Houndoom. The boulders crushed Stroheim and his Pokémon. Their anguished cries skittering over the rough surfaces of the large rocks Aggron had summoned.

   Gyro stood up, dusted himself off and flecks of mud dropped from his pants. He chortled to himself, satisfied that for all intents and purposes, he had won this battle. He recalled his Aggron and lavished praise upon his now filled PokeBall. He then whistled and his Mudsdale dopily began to plodder off towards him.

   Johnny, meanwhile, glared daggers. ‘Hey!’ he yelled.

   ‘Yes?’

   ‘Were you really gonna gamble my life on that?’ he asked. ‘And Jailbreak’s? And Valkyrie’s? And Slow Dancer’s?’

   ‘Yes.’

   ‘You’re insane.’

   ‘No. I was rightfully confident that Jailbreak would win, come on, let’s get out of here.’

   Gyro got on the back of his Mudsdale’s back. Johnny heard faint whispers of an apology for doing such a gamble in direct contradiction to what Johnny had just been told. Typical. Johnny dragged himself slightly closer to his Zebstrika and began to call it over when he got thinking too much.

   ‘These terrorists… just what in the world is going on with them? Even if becoming Unova’s first champion makes the race a symbol of victory for a nation, these assaults are too intense. Oyecomova, Stroheim, it’s only a race! Pokémon aren’t meant to battle like this.’

   ‘Well, we’ll just have to get stronger.’ Gyro replied, dark and firm.

   He jerked his wrist and his reins went flying upwards. Mudsdale began to trot off. Johnny glared but he let it go. He saw that in the mess of things, his canteen had come loose so he went to grab it. It was lying by the base of some nearby trees; all of them were aspens by the look of its skinny, white trunk.

   Johnny pulled himself next to it. He got a weird feeling about this place. It was quiet. There were a few reeds fencing off the tree and if he craned his neck, over the reeds, he could see a pond. It was kind of nice here. Johnny picked up his canteen by its straps and tugged it towards him. However, it didn’t budge.

   He came a little closer and saw that it was caught on something. There was some sort of root that he hadn’t noticed earlier. It was deep in the ground so that gave it some leverage and the strap of his canteen. Something caught Johnny’s eyes as though as he unlooped his canteen from the root.

   The root was exposed because it appeared to be a part of some Pokémon’s den. There was a slightly hidden indent in the ground that was gaping wide. There were claw marks around. Johnny peered into the hole and he swallowed.

   ‘That’s nasty… but that’s nature.’

   For personal reasons, ever since he was a kid, he hated to see the carcasses of dead Pokémon; especially ones like this. It was half a carcass belonging to a Kadabra; they weren’t native to the area. Its torso was stringy and most of its head had been gouged out so it's thin skull was showing through slices of pink; muscles. Johnny’s stomach wretched. He wondered what sort of carnivore made this its home… and if it was coming back anytime soon.

   He was about to turn back but there was something deeper still in the hole and he was a curious guy. He was careful to avoid the Kadabra as he reached into the hole. He rolled something round of it and discovered an Egg. If he had to estimate, judging by the red and charcoal black markings, this wasn’t an Egg belonging to Kadabra.

   The Egg was silent and strangely cold. When Johnny inspected the bottom, he found teeth marks. This Egg was likely the owner of this den’s next meal. He inhaled sharply and heard his Zebstrika draw ever closer. Still, he was jittery and nervous thanks to being harrowed by Stroheim, consequently by Gyro, and now by the discovery of the Kadabra.

   He knew he shouldn’t do it, but Johnny decided to take the Egg with him. It deserved a better life than being devoured by some random predator. He didn’t know how much of a better life he could give it, but hey, surely seeing the world topped being eaten as a newborn. Even if it was as the subordinate of a selfish and cowardly Trainer like him. Johnny wondered what sort of Pokémon the Egg would hatch into; if it ever hatched at all.

   Even with his canteen slung over his neck, hefting himself and the Egg safely towards his Zebstrika was difficult. He still managed. He got to perhaps the halfway mark of his made-up goal before yet another odd thing happened. As Johnny dragged himself through the din of mud and grass, he must have cut himself on something because from his wrist to his forearm, it prickled but not like it did when he had simply overworked the muscles. It prickled like it would if his body were reacting to his skin being opened by a blade or the similar.

   Johnny hefted himself up and set his Egg down by his lap. He twisted his arm slightly and never had he seen a more grotesque cut. Blood spurted out. His skin bulged and folded back like pages in a book.

   ‘Gyro!’ he called out. ‘Oi, wait for me!’

   He winced at the pain. Gyro turned his head slightly. He saw Johnny writhing in the shorter grass. He clutched his left arm.

   ‘My arm!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Look, argh, my arm!’

   Johnny lifted it up and extended it, but it was gone. No wounds; not even a single scratch. The blood had disappeared also.

   ‘Huh? What?’ Johnny murmured.

   Gyro gave him a moment to collect his thoughts since Johnny tended to not think straight when panicky. Gyro decided to try and change the topic of conversation on the off chance that it helped.

   ‘What do you have there? I thought you just grabbing your canteen.’

   Johnny turned over his hand and his veins bulged beneath his skin. His palm looked as though it had something spherical embedded inside of it. There was curious pattern inside the indentation though. It was hard to describe. It was akin to fanning leaves but closer to long, thick slats and it was vaguely arm-like. Whatever it was, it pulsed, and it sent pulses of electricity through him. It tingled inside of his nerves and even his blood. It was oddly empowering. Like he could do anything. He blinked, and it was like he could see thunder clouds on the backsides of his eyelids. He couldn’t explain it.

   ‘What is this?’ Johnny yelped.

   ‘Looks like an Egg to me… I thought that might be why you adopted it.’ Gyro said; having a completely different conversation to Johnny.

   At least until he got a better look at what Johnny was yelping about; at the way he stared at his own hand as though it did not belong to him.

   ‘You yelling at me or the ground? What’s going on?’ Gyro asked.

   Johnny was sweating now. He was in an absolute tizzy now too, Gyro could see it in his eyes. Johnny seemed to have paled. His lips stuck out oddly like he had words stuck in his throat. He clutched his arm; around those quasi-patriotic armwarmers he wore.

   ‘N-No.’ he sputtered. His eyebrow twitched. ‘There’s something - there’s something… it went into my hand!’

   Ah, shock, Gyro thought to himself, ‘I see, so you hurt yourself, where? I don’t see an obvious injury.’

   Johnny glared at his hand. He was certain the indention was real. The blood had been real. The splitting apart of blood, muscle, and skin had been real. He was certain. It still hurt, after all. But he couldn’t work out what it was. He could do nothing but watch as the bulge in his palm flatted. His skin stretched back to normal. There were no patterns; just the wrinkly lines of his palm which had always been there.

   His right hand fell to his palm; his fingertips brushed over the shell of the Egg. It was comfortingly cold. He thought Eggs were supposed to be warm.

   ‘I must be imagining things. I was overreacting.’ Johnny both confessed and lied. ‘I think it might just be fatigue since I did some weird digging around. That’s how I found the Egg. I think some predator Pokémon stole it from its nest and had planned to eat it. I found it with a carcass, after all.’

   ‘Ah, I see. Well, give your arm a little massage. That might fix it.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘Yeah.’ Johnny said, rubbing at his arm.

   ‘Well… As for the Egg, it's your responsibility. You keep it safe in this race. C’mon, let’s keep going.’ Gyro said.

   He tugged at his reins and once more, he was trotting off.

   Johnny was about to call for his Zebstrika but it felt like he was hit by a bolt of lightning. Not in a physical sense, but a spiritual sense. He was filled with an unexplainable image. He didn’t recognise the location, but he could sense that it had much gravity.

   Mentally, he was taken to somewhere afar but close to home. Unova. This was a place in Unova. The image depicted a broken tower; a castle worn down by both man and ‘mon. Nature and time. There were hallowed halls and broken floors. Then there was an ear-splitting roar and clouds swirled.

   Johnny was enlightened for a mere moment before it faded like clouds. The image turned to a phrase: Dragonspiral Tower.

   Dragonspiral Tower was a place he was acquainted with through reputation. It was somewhat closeby. It was on the other side of Icirrus City; a touch north of the city. It was a condemned and eerie place that no one visited; not even as a joke. Now that Johnny thought about it, the Zombie Salamence was basically in that castle’s shadow. He recalled now mentioning that to Gyro who had wanted to know yesterday who would build such a foreign looking, read Kalosian-looking, a castle in Unova. Johnny was unsure of why he was thinking of it now.

   He shook his head and resolved to catch up with Gyro. The race was far more important than whatever had just messed with him. He had bigger and better things to worry about; like what Gyro had said. How was he going to keep this Egg safe?


	25. VS THE DISAPPEARING COFFEE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy stumbles upon a conspiracy of her own.

   The first of certain complexities involved Mr. Steel, his child bride of a wife, and someone who is revered and trusted by his people, Mr. Valentine who is a man also known as President Valentine; President of the Unovan Republic.

   Approximately forty-five minutes before Mr. Steel came face to face with the legendary map, he was first shown a photograph of Dragonspiral Tower. His servant had entered his luxurious carriage where prior to his entry, Mr. Steel had been alone with only his own company to indulge himself. As such, he quite a tray of wine and cheeses with him.

   ‘This photo was taken from about two hundred metres in the air by hot air balloon following the race. Maria had the photograph taken because for some reason, the presence of the Dragonspiral Tower was distressing her. She claimed that some sort of evil energy was emanating and thought it might produce a spirit photograph. Women are so fickle. As you can see, Sir, there is no energy depicted in that photograph. Anyway, as for my report, you will soon see the possible connection. The participants of the Second Stage are mainly running on two routes. It is estimated that eight hundred of our participants chose the route closest to the mountains…

   ‘However, sixty-eight of those people, have been confirmed dead. Accidents in rocks, ice, and water…’

   ‘Sixty-eight?’ Mr Steel mourned.

   ‘As for the larger, remaining five hundred and twenty-three of them dropped out once they neared Icirrus City, which as you may know, is close by the location shown in that photograph. The main cause of the dropping out was simple lack of determination. No injuries, just weakness of the mind. But it is reported quite popularly that as people neared Dragonspiral Tower, their conviction simply died: as though they had neither truth nor ideal to pursue in this race… An odd coincidence given the lore of Dragonspiral Tower, are you familiar with it, sir?’

   ‘Refresh me.’ Mr Steel replied, a tad flippantly.

   ‘The local Isshu people claim that Dragonspiral Tower was built in commemoration of the sealing away of the legendary dragons, Reshiram and Zekrom: the dragons of truth and ideal, respectively. Once, allegedly, a piece of one of the sealed dragons, Zekrom, was housed there. But people have searched it and have discovered that no such artefact exists. Though, others say that it might have been stolen, displaced somewhere nearby… But of course, it doesn’t, such powerful, god-like Pokémon couldn’t exist.’

   ‘I see.’

   ‘They say the Dragonspiral Tower chooses people, a certain individual, perhaps two, perhaps more, and imbues them with either “truth” or “ideal”... but I don’t know for what purposes an inorganic building would have for some random people.’

   ‘How odd.’

   Mr. Steel passed back the photograph. His servant placed it on the table as he had no need for the photograph. He had no such beliefs of evil energies.

   ‘How’re the favourites contending? Wait… Gyro Zeppeli, he would’ve been one of the first through the area, do you think he would have noticed anything? How’s he going?’

   ‘Currently, the balloons have lost sight of him. But he was in first place and accompanied by Johnny Joestar. He is most likely twenty kilometres from Tubeline Bridge which means that he may be the first to accompany… that feral.’

   ‘Feral? That’s no way to talk about one of President Valentine’s chosen Trainers.’

   ‘When Gyro Zeppeli bypassed Icirrus City, was there any chance of him finding anything? He went quite off-course between the first race town and Icirrus City, it is possible. Given the location in which he went off-course, it is entirely likely he ended up north of Icirrus City and therefore, put in the vicinity of Dragonspiral Tower.’

   ‘What sort of find do you believe he could have made?’

   ‘A stone, for example.’ Mr Steel made prayer hands and tapped his wrinkly lips. ‘There is a possibility that Gyro Zeppeli found a peculiar stone in that land. Look into it.’

   ‘Excuse me, could you please repeat yourself? Peculiar stone is a touch vague. Do you mean a precious jewel or an Evolution Stone?’

   ‘Have the balloons catch up to him. So, they may investigate him. It might be difficult to ascertain, as it might be small. I’m thinking… a Dragon Stone. See if Gyro Zeppeli is carrying something like that. Though, he may be hiding it in a bag or even in his mount or has given it to one of his Pokémon, those are all possibilities. I doubt he’d share such a spoil with that companion of his. He may not even realise its rarity at all.’ Mr Steel pondered these possibilities with grave sincerity.

   It honestly chilled his servant to the bone. Rumours of Team Pax Unova unfurled in the inner of the servant. They were a group of thugs that no one took seriously for they chased fairy tales. Was it possible that Mr Steel was a sympathiser to their outrageous cause?

   Allegedly, they were searching for the Heroes of Truth and Ideals. But those were just figments in stories. Such people did not exist and most certainly would not reincarnate. And so, the servant had to ask with a wobbly voice:

   ‘I’m surprised at you suddenly mentioning this given the current climate of the Unovan myths. This stone… Mr Steel, outside of successfully electing a Champion, is it possible this race has another purpose? When you say Dragon Stone… you don’t mean…?’

   Words failed the servant. He couldn’t phrase such idiocy in his mouth, and yet, he was being stared down ever so stern from Mr Steel.

   ‘I say this without a doubt. The Steel Ball Run race will be successful. That is its only purpose. I do not know what you are accusing me of. But right now, we need an investigation into Gyro Zeppeli… Again.’ Mr Steel affirmed.

   His servant was terrified, but he did not want to gamble his place, so he left. To investigate Gyro Zeppeli, again, he supposed. Though this time, such investigation was to bear great weight. Greater than identity verification from curiosity. This was genuinely serious.

   Mr Steel sighed. He heard the thump of animated footsteps and the curtain rolled back. He caught sight of a bushy tail and in the slit of the room now newly revealed, he saw a man lighting a pipe. He was surrounded by lavish Pokémon. Each and every one of them seemed to sparkle.

   ‘Your conversation, Mr Steel.’

   Mr Steel looked towards the speaker, it was only respectful, after all.

   ‘Your conversation, Mr Steel,’ he began again, ‘allow me to make one correction. It’s not only a possibility that Gyro Zeppeli found something in vicinity of the Dragonspiral Tower but it is a fact.’

   He placed his pipe in the mouth and continued to muse. ‘That Trainer we sent, Oyecomova, pursued Gyro Zeppeli and did not return.’

   ‘Wait, you don’t mean? Has Zeppeli entered this race with the same intention as us? To find the Dragon Stones?’

   He held up his chin with his palm; elbow to the piney table. ‘That… we don’t know for certain. It is entirely likely that he happened upon a Dragon Stone by chance. It is possible he didn’t even know it is a Dragon Stone at all. If the stories are true, and by the stars they are, then it can be ascertained that the Dragonspiral Tower chooses people of truth and of ideal and it is a certainty that it has chosen Gyro Zeppeli. The problem is after Zeppeli. It will not be useful to our purposes if the Dragon Stone is lost or buried. Therefore, we need to investigate immediately so we may find out how the Dragon Stone Zeppeli found is being concealed so that we may alleviate it from his unworthy presence.’

   The smoke from the pipe wafted up in elegant curls. There was a Braviary decal on the pipe; it seemed quite old. He spoke darkly. This was a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

   Mr Steel felt sweat drip down his temples; he trembled slightly. It felt to be a sin to speak out against this man.

   ‘Wait a second, I don’t know much about Gyro Zeppeli… and I did promise to cooperative extensively with you - and your associates - In this race but that sounds a lot like… getting rid of Zeppeli. Permanently. I was never told there would be murders happening in this race! Because that is not within my interests of searching for these Stones with you at all!’

   The Pokémon in the room grew tense. They eyed up Mr Steel and looked ready to pounce. But it was their Trainer he was most afraid of.

   ‘Listen, Mr Steel, it is justice for us to get the Dragon Stones! We will use any means necessary! I was chosen by the Dragonspiral Tower: its presence compelled me. What if left when there is neither truth nor ideal is justice. Therefore, it is the destiny of my compatriots and I - yourself included as you have, until now, abided by my interest - to seek the stories and resurrect the dragons because humanity is finally ready for such power. We will be assured that such powers are in my hands by the end of this race, you understand, Mr Steel? And the Champion will, of course, become my pawn so we must influence that favourably also; there are plenty of competitors who will be unsuited to such a position within my ranks.’

   The pipe was smoked out and placed on the table. There was a deafening silence between it bumping onto the table and the man drawing out a briefcase that had been sitting idly at his feet, unnoticed thanks to the menagerie of powerful pets this Trainer flaunted. The Pokémon drew in curiously; wet noses twitching as they sniffed the briefcase.

   It opened with a click and Mr Steel could not believe his eyes. Popping out of the briefcase was a mechanised easel of a sort. Spread upon the canvas was a page of parchment pinned beautifully to the canvas. If it had been anyone else showing Mr Steel the contents of this briefcase, Mr Steel would have had their hides tanned for such bogus con artistry. But no, this was most certainly legitimate.

   The map depicted Isshu era Unova before erosion and natural disaster, even human intervention, had drastically changed the shape of it. Across this region, there were nine slashes indicating something, hard to tell what as most of them did not correlate to an actual landmark acknowledged by modern standards but Mr Steel knew by his stars that those marks were meant to indicate the locations of Dragon Stones. This was Lili’s Map. There was no doubt about it and seeing it in the flesh was strangely sobering but it also left him terrified.

   It left him terrified as to most, it was just a random string twining through Unova but to him, it was grave importance. To him and nigh three thousand others too.

   ‘Mr Steel! Bring success to the Steel Ball Run race. This race that passes through this route on this map. When a large enough people pass by the Dragonspiral Tower, those who become imbued with its power and are strong enough to embrace it, will be uncovered. The mediocre will be culled from the chosen. From this, the scattered Dragon Stones will reveal themselves from their hidden locations in this region. That is for certain.’

   The man sneered; his face became revolted. His Pokémon drew up onto their haunches.

    ‘And murder, you say? Watch your words! Stephen Steel! This race would not exist if it were not for me.’

   ‘I understand, Mr President of the Unovan Republic.’ Mr Steel replied, dumbly, too petrified to rebel any further than he already had.

   The atmosphere was terse. Electric, like a fire could ignite between them at any moment. The low whine of Pokémon was threatening but it was those cold, lying eyes belonging to President Valentine that was even bigger death notice for Mr Steel.

   Then there was a voice, blissfully unaware of the atmosphere she was about to enter. The door parted; a slight creak as the train carriages shook.

   ‘Excuse me, the coffee is ready.’ Lucy Steel piped up as she carefully opened the door all whilst carrying a tray that was heavily laden with fine china and a gorgeous kettle steaming with aromatic coffee.

   ‘Don’t come in! You haven’t got permission, yet!’ the President barked.

   Having raised his voice, his Pokémon were spooked. But their instinct, despite what their natures may imply, was fight rather than flight so they saw Lucy as a threat. After all, she had disobeyed their master. They crowded around the door. All of five of his pet Pokémon behaved like a single, curious drone. They pestered Lucy’s feet and having not expecting five Pokémon to bound to her, Lucy was quite surprised.

   She squealed as she attempted to protect herself from their clawed paws. The tray tipped upwards as she tried to use her hands to defend her face; she crumpled in on herself and raised her knee as a guard thinking the leather of her boot might protect her somewhat.

   As for the china and the billy full of coffee, up and into the air they went. The coffee splashed over the pine table President Valentine was seated at. The china cups wobbled through the air before smashing on the ground. The Pokémon chattered and spat.

   ‘Mr President!’ Mr Steel yelped. ‘I’m extremely sorry.’

   President Valentine was wholly unfazed, he eyed up Lucy.

   She stood her grounds though; lowered her leg and flattened out her skirt. She allowed the President’s Pokémon to sniff at her. To decide if she were friend or foe. She was not afraid of Pokémon for she had grown up around them however, she saw them more as food than friend herself. Her parents were strict with her and her siblings; not allowing them to ever see the stock they kept as anything more. This world view hadn’t changed since her marriage. Right now, it may prove useful beneath the eyes of the President and he himself were analysing her, her reactions and similar.

   ‘This is my wife.’ Mr Steel sputtered through his words, rife with embarrassment on Lucy’s behalf who remained strong despite her major faux pas. ‘She is very foolish and…’

   Mr Steel noticed something peculiar. The table was wiped clean of coffee save for three, small puddles that resembled blood stains with how they dripped over the decorative engravings on the layered edge of the table. The billy itself was also missing.

   ‘Be careful.’ President Valentine warned. ‘Not about me or my darlings here, but Mrs Steel, beautiful young wife of my esteemed associate Stephen Steel… It’s above your head.’

   With a tubby finger, he pointed upwards. Lucy cautiously lifted her head and before she could even tip her chin anywhere further past the table, she caught the kettle. It landed in her hands with a soft oof. She couldn’t believe it. She heard the President’s Pokémon titter. One approached him shyly and he scratched beneath its chin, he half smiled as though proud, but Lucy was uncertain as to why. It had been standing behind her and had not done a thing. How did these things seem to correlate?

   No, they had to be unrelated. Surely. Some sort of sleight of hand or magic instead, perhaps?

   The President further slumped over the very much clean table. There were sounds coming from the roof. Thuds and rustles: footsteps and the beat of wings. He smiled, sinister.

   ‘The actions of my servants, Mr Steel. They are called plans… Not murders, the orders I give out.’ President Valentine explained in a low voice; flaunting the fact that he had dared to mention the previous conversation in the room with fifteen-year-old Lucy present.

   ‘You must forgive him, he’s your age, Mrs Steel. He isn’t used to responsibility like this, but he has excellent capabilities as a Trainer. Though, I will admit that his social skills are a touch inebriated and cities such as Icirrus make him quite nervous which is why he has been hesitant to make his appearance.’

   Lucy’s skin prickled. She shivered slightly but something outside the moving carriage caught her eye. In the sleek shadow of the train, a new figure arose. A figure with a many pointed head and a cane. Though the arising of this was troubling, that figure upon the train’s roof’s shadow was not the cause for concern upon her face. But rather it was still the three events that transpired regarding the coffee: kettle’s miraculous jump, the disappearance of the coffee, and why the President seemed proud on behalf because of one of his darling pets’ seeming inaction. For reasons Lucy cannot verbalise, she cannot help but feel they are connected. And that, for reasons she is unknown to for this is all intuition for her, that unnerves her gravely and deeply.


	26. VS PORK PIE HAT KID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Gyro finally cross paths with the first of President Valentine's Chosen Trainers.

   Despite distraction from Stroheim, Gyro and Johnny were making good pace once more. Despite the whole thing with Johnny’s hand too. It had come fine so Johnny didn’t pay much mind to it. Worse has happened to him after all.

   Also, his Egg was safely wrapped up in his blue blanket speckled with stars. The Egg looked odd wrapped up in it since it was so dark in colour compared to the near pastel of the fabric. Still, the Egg was getting warmer and sounds could be heard. Though, that might me the Egg is a lot older than both of them had expected since that would imply it was already close to hatching. Moreover, Gyro assured Johnny that despite the Egg’s rough start in life, it was likely going to hatch happy and healthy.

   The Tubeline Bridge was still a fair distance away thought; perhaps getting closer to twenty kilometres away. Johnny couldn’t wait to get a little bit closer so he could work in a story from his old days as a professional jockey, just a thing about this girl from Opelucid City, into the conversation he and Gyro were currently quite thick in. Right now, Gyro was dominating but he was on a roll with his jokes and Johnny didn’t mind. Gyro was a funny guy. With a fashion sense and a eccentric as head of him, it seemed natural for him to have this humorous streak and being bit of a dull guy, Johnny could appreciate that.

   ‘Here’s a question for ya, Johnny-boy, you ever been to the opera?’ Gyro asked. A complete turnaround from whatever he’d been yapping on about two seconds ago.

   ‘Opera? Oh, those music shows where they start singing out their lines stead of like talking about their situations like a normal person? Hm, nope, never seen one though. Why do you ask?’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Well, these here are opera glasses because you use ‘em to watch the opera.’ Gyro said as he produced a pair of binoculars, though a very fancy looking pair, from his belongings. ‘But the people singing on stage, all have huge bodies. Like one hundred and twenty kilograms to a one hundred and fifty kilogram-sized bodies. Or more!’

   ‘Yeah, but maybe that’s why they can sing so well.’

   ‘But why look at ‘em through opera glasses? You don’t need to, they’re already so big.’

   It was such a silly observation, if you could call it that, or maybe a stupid joke but Johnny didn’t care. It got a silly smile out of him anyway. Something Gyro was very chuffed about. He’d never seen Johnny’s eyebrows arch up like that; let alone his lips. It was great.

   Gyro placed his opera glasses over his eyes. He tipped his head to the sky and swung around his line of sight a bit. There was a huge flock of Pidove and Tranquil flying over from the west. As they flapped wildly in closer, overhead, they certainly grew in volume. They made an utter nuisance racket of themselves.

   ‘Maybe, you're supposed to zoom in on their buttons on their fancy clothes and watch them as they’re about to fly off.’

   ‘Now that you mention it,’ Johnny started off, trying not to sound smug as he was half proud of what he’d thought up next, ‘but dude, since they all have the same type of body, maybe you can’t tell the difference unless you zoom in?’

   ‘Nyo ho, ho, ho, haha! Not a bad one, Johnny!’ Gyro shrieked.

   That was also something of a stupid observation but by the stars if it didn’t get a huge laugh out of Gyro. He was laughing loud enough to rival the fifty-odd Pidove and Tranquil in the sky now. Johnny had also somewhat gotten more used to that peculiar laugh of Gyro’s too. Having made him laugh, it felt really good - especially after yesterday’s little gag at the Zombie Salamence which had bemused Gyro more than amused him.

   ‘Look, Gyro! That’s the Tubeline Bridge. But still no sign of that damned chosen Trainer of the President's. Reckon someone beat us to the punch somehow? Or is he just M.I.A.?’ Johnny piped up.

   ‘You’re dreaming, there’s no way anyone’s found the reclusive bugger. I’m certain he’s waiting on that bridge. Mark my word.’

   In the distance, the architectural beauty that was the Tubeline Bridge became ever more prominent. Here, the wetlands met seaside cliffs. It made for a strange experience: weird, muggy smells and a breeze that alternated between horribly muggy and bitterly cold.

   ‘Well, either way, we’re probably gonna cross it before sundown in a few hours’ time. Reckon we should speed up?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘No! This pace is fine. We’ll be first no problem and I’ll bags that badge waiting up there.’

   ‘If you say so.’ Johnny replied; he half nodded. He had no preference.

   That flock of flying types began to drop feathers. They flitted through the air. They didn’t quieten down but still, Johnny was certain Gyro could yell over them. Surely he would say something inspiringly confident about the “five-three” split they were after. That’s what he usually had something to say about but instead, silence. So, Johnny checked over his shoulder, see if Gyro had gotten distracted by something.

   Instead, Gyro wasn’t there at all.

   Mudsdale was slogging along without its rider. A little further back, a steel PokeBall had been dropped. It was spinning viciously in the ground, riling up the mud and grass and turning it into a pond-like ripple. Johnny hoped to goodness that that PokeBall was empty.

   ‘Gyro!’ he yelled out.

   He tugged on his Zebstrika’s reins. It whinnied as it reared up onto its hind legs at the surprise irritation of its muzzle. Out of concern for its companion, Gyro’s Mudsdale did the same. Now both mounts were in something of a tizz.

   Johnny’s mind raced at a hundred miles a minute as he tried to work out what was going. Gyro made all sorts of jokes but not jokes like this. This had to be a bad situation. Another one already today, just great. Johnny went through the slightly more pleasant possibilities which involved if Gyro had fallen off or had gotten injured somehow which had caused him to fall off his mount. Still, it seemed highly unlikely with how good of a rider he was.

   Johnny circled around a little bit. He inspected the ground for nooks and crannies. He was hyper ware now of how close to the sea they were. He didn’t want to think about if Gyro had hit his head on the fall and had tumbled off the cliff completely. That was horrific even hypothetically.

   ‘Gyro? Gyro!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Answer me! Where are you? Gyrooo?!’

  Johnny strained his ears for a reply. Nothing, at first. Just the movement of trees but then and then he heard Mudsdale whinny. Johnny turned his head back to it and he watched as a Skarmory attacked. Mudsdale fought back Skarmory’s claws; bucking and whatnot, Mudsdale sent Gyro’s supplies flying. The Skarmory hissed and spat, ultimately giving up. As it flitted its wings, Johnny was attacked from behind.

   His back was torn to shreds by a sharp wind: an Air Cutter. He whipped around and his face tore, blood dripped from the cuts. He squinted into the distance. The attacking Pokemon had been a Sigilyph and now it was flying off. Johnny glanced around; the Skarmory had disappeared - had it flown off or had it been returned to its PokeBall?

   These attacks were coordinated quite well so a human had to be master of these species which were not native to the area by Johnny’s memory. He gritted his teeth as he scanned his surroundings. Plenty of vacant space over the soggy moors so there wasn’t much to hide beneath; a few trees here and there, a rocky outcrop over there, but nothing which would make for a good hiding spot. Unless, Johnny had a crazy thought, unless he was being attacked from the sky. The flock of Pidove and Tranquil grew noisier yet.

   Then, there was an unnatural snapping and crunching sound in the opposite direction from where the Skarmory had fled from. Johnny looked around and he saw something unusual in the flock of bird Pokemon. They were noisy and in-fighting. From the centre of them, a Swoobat was pushed out and attacked.

   ‘Hey, hey! No fighting!’ someone yelled; a sort of slurred and sloshing voice. ‘We’re friends; feathers, she-she! Two legs good, four legs bad!’

   Johnny saw that on the back of a Swoobat, there was a small but not necessarily young boy. The Swoobat sent a Psybeam or two back at the Pidove and Tranquil attacking it.

   ‘Huh? Wait…’

   The boy leaned out from over the back of his Swoobat. He mustn’t have been a racer; flying type mounts were banned after all. His eyes widened - he had these Seismatoad-like eyes - and he grinned maliciously when he locked eyes with Johnny.

   Johnny swallowed. He had sighted his enemy. He was certain this boy was the cause for Gyro’s disappearance. Johnny’s heart raced. It was inopportune, but he was suddenly recalling what the Boom Boom Family had said about him. They had called him a wimp and a coward who relied on Gyro’s help, let him do the dirty work. It was true. He was yellow-bellied, he did rely too much on Gyro to trade the knockouts but not anymore, Johnny resolved.

   It had been a fair few years since Johnny had been in a proper battle. His Pokémon had probably forgotten how to fight. Now, the most they had done so far was playing support to what Gyro had been doing but not anymore. Not when this race was worth more than winning and losing.

   Johnny knew exactly who to beckon on in a situation like this. This Trainer clearly favoured flying types and Johnny had the perfect counter for such a favouritism. But first, Johnny decided, was that he needed to find Gyro and recover that PokeBall from back there as well.

   Johnny tugged on his reins and he whipped back. The Trainer on the back of the Swoobat allowed him to do so, watched even; followed slightly in his wake. There was a curious twinge to what the Trainer did. He was hard to read.

   ‘Wired, use Sky Drop!’ he yelled.

   ‘What?’ Johnny said.

   He froze, he thought that there was a chance that the attack on him was a mistake. After all, Gyro was the bigger threat but given that the Skarmory from earlier had whipped back around from the flock it had been flying with and was now charging straight at Johnny.

   ‘Rh-Rhiannon!’ Johnny’s voice quaked as he clicked the button on one of his PokeBalls.

   From a jagged bolt of silvery light, an Ampharos appeared. It squealed and the orb on the end of its tail lit up. It seemed upset, though slightly, that Johnny had awoken it from its sleep to battle.

   ‘Use, Discharge!’ Johnny instructed.

   He pointed at the Skarmory which zoomed at him. It flashed its claws and fangs. His Ampharos whipped around and electricity crackled atop its head. From deep within itself, his Ampharos let loose a wild bolt of lightning. It jumped and sizzled in every direction. Skarmory charged; taking it head-on and seemed somewhat affected.

   It snapped its beak at Johnny, but it didn’t grab at him. With a moment’s thinking, he hugged tight onto his Egg and resolved to keep it safe at all costs. He leapt out of the way despite its target truly being his belongings. He crashed into the softened ground and made sure his body took all the shock. His Ampharos waddled after him and was somewhat concerned. His Zebstrika did not take well to being swooped at. It let off warning shots of electricity but not enough to harm anyone, let alone Skarmory.

   The Skarmory began to circle the scattering of Johnny’s belongings. The Trainer atop of the Swoobat began to clap and make celebratory gurgling noises. In his distraction, Johnny made his escape but first, he made sure to recollect Gyro’s PokeBall. He needed a safe spot to guard his Egg too. His Ampharos and Zebstrika would be fine without him crowding them, he hoped.

   He saw the rock shelf slightly further down. Without hesitation, he dragged himself beneath it and kept his chin to the ground. The Egg was safe and so was he. It was cool and damp under here; smelt a lot like bugs and mud though but there were smells in the world. In his ear, he could hear more strange noises emerge from within his Egg’s shell. Johnny quietened his panting breaths and tried to assess what was happening.

   Gyro and their luggage, for some reason, appeared to be this Trainer’s goal. He didn’t seem like a common thief though. He behaved as though under orders. Strangely methodical despite seeming playful. Clearly, his enemy was searching something but what?

   Johnny’s left hand tingled slightly. He swallowed. Surely the raised bump that had been in his palm had been a hallucination of some description but what if… this enemy of his and Gyro’s was searching for it?

   Whatever “it” was.

   What if their enemy had attacked Gyro first thinking that he had this thing instead of Johnny? It would explain why he was fixated on their things. What’s more is what if Oyecomova and Stroheim, what if they had been after this thing to do. But Johnny was no closer to working out just what that rock-like thing inside his hand was.

   The Trainer had landed. The flock of Pidove and Tranquil dispersed. Not a single one remained close to the Trainer, so it was probable that all of them were wild and none belonged to this peculiar enemy trainer.

   ‘Yoshi, yoshi, good, good, Ysabel.’ he murmured to his Swoobat.

   He patted its head with loud thumps, but the Pokémon seemed used to it. His Pokémon - the Skarmory, Swoobat, and Sigilyph - flitted about. They didn’t bother either mounts. Ampharos, who was half standing away from Johnny, awaiting next order. For now, Johnny wanted to discern more of their enemy’s goal, so he allowed Ampharos to the keep guard over them. It watched the other Pokemon beadily, suspiciously. The three flying-types were happy to do their own thing such as peck at the ground since their Trainer was occupied as began to rifle through the scattered belongings on the ground that were slowly soaking up water.

   The Trainer squatted down by Johnny’s sleeping gear and other bits-and-bobs. He grabbed a rock and began bashing Johnny’s blanket in. He grinned maniacally as he did so. He mashed through the soft bits of Johnny’s belongings until he heard an odd clunk which pursed his lips over. He put his ear closer to the end of the bag and hit it with the rock a few more times before satisfied with the sound.

   The enemy Trainer reached into Johnny’s bag and pulled out a broken pen. Its navy-blue shell was utterly crushed, and it was leaking. The Trainer inspected it as though he had never seen a pen before. It was bizarre, how he toyed with it.

   He wobbled it in the air, in front of his eyes. He was amused by how it dripped. He made noises which might have been laughter, but he had such a wet voice, it sounded like a grotesque gurgle. He sniffed at the ink then lapped at the leak. He put his whole mouth around the end of the pen and slurped down the ink. He sputtered out more than he could swallow than more but sounded oddly satisfied with the taste, even remarking upon it.

   ‘Aah! Good shtuff.’

   With black ink on his mouth, he tossed away the pen then began to go through Johnny’s things again. Though, this time he was quick to finish despite his utter delight over rummaging around other people’s things. He peeked underneath the blanket then tossed it aside. He pouted, crossed his arms over his abhorrently green, khaki shirt.

   ‘Gooood shtuuuuuff but not what I’m looking for.’

   From crouching down, he jumped up. He wandered over and he left Johnny’s line of sight. So, Johnny slightly emerged from his hiding spot. His Ampharos’ shoulders rose protectively having heard Johnny scratching about. Johnny craned his neck and he saw the enemy Trainer go through one of Gyro’s bags. That was one of the bags with Gyro’s sleeping gear and a few spare sets of clothes. Johnny’s heart dropped. He didn’t have any evidence that this Trainer wasn’t a thief or after whatever was in his hand, but Johnny knew there was something valuable in that bag.

   And the trainer had fund it. He had found a small velvet bag. He played with the golden drawstrings until they fell apart. Then he squeezed it open because he could feel something as round as a marble inside of it. That was the jewel from the Zombie Salamence’s eyes.

   ‘Ooooh…’ the Trainer admired. ‘What’s thish?’

   He sat down and crossed his legs. His black eyes became extremely excited as he analysed the tiny orb. Johnny wondered if he could get any more information on the curious gem, but he didn’t want to compromise his position. If that Trainer tried any more attacks on him, he’d be black and blue in no time thanks to his terrifying Skarmory.

   The Trainer licked the gem and slobbered on it. It was as though he were testing if it were candy. He spat it back out of his hand and screwed up his face. Apparently, it tasted worse than pen ink by his standards. He brought it close to his eye again and watched as a rainbow was illuminated from its cyan centre. His eyebrow twitched.

   ‘This isn’t… it.’ he said. ‘Doesn’t… feel right.’

    And, with that, he lost interest in it. Maybe it was just some coloured glass; not even anything excited as a jewel or Evolution Rock. The enemy Trainer huffed as he clamped his hands over his knees. His Pokémon curiously circled back to him. His Skarmory and Swoobat nudged his staunch shoulders with their noses. He made strange noises as he thought hard about whatever it was he was looking for.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli didn’t have it either. Nope, nope… Wait!’

   He looked as though he had had an epiphany.

   ‘Sho that means… Jyawnee… What’s his name…? Jywanee Jyawshter? Sho he’s the one who’s got it. He musht be hiding it in his body…’

   He paused a moment. He got up and straightened out his back. He seemed taller now than before, when he was crouching and scrabbling around. He licked his lips and left thick trails of saliva on his upper lip and around the corners of his mouth. He wiped his face with his arm. He took a breath.

   ‘You can’t hide from me, Jywanee Jyawshter!’ he yelled. ‘I am Trainer Pork Pie Hat Kid and I am challenging you to a battle. I’m one of Preshident Valentines’ Choshen Trainers.’

   Johnny swallowed. Was that true?

   Pork Pie dug into his pants and he drew out a fold-up fishing rod. He looked around, his head searching dramatically, for Johnny as he shook out his fishing rod. It was lined with sturdy wire like they would use on a construction site and the hook that hung off it was monstrously large.

  He lumbered towards Johnny’s hiding spot. His Pokémon were in tow. Johnny’s Ampharos attempted to challenge them but it was quickly outnumbered, pinned in the middle of a triangle formed by Skarmory, Sigilyph, and Swoobat. Pork Pie seemed oblivious to Johnny himself.

   Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest. In all likelihood, despite being missing, Gyro was alive so that was something he didn’t have to worry about. And the fact that it is not the Zombie Salamence’s eyes that this Trainer is after, likely confirms that he wants the rock - or whatever it is - that is in his hand. But that left the unconfirmed claim that he was one of being one of the President’s chosen Trainers. Surely someone as unhinged was not chosen by Valentine.

   He watched as his Ampharos was occupied by Pork Pie’s Pokémon. Mostly, it was left alone but still, the danger was present. Now Pork Pie had left Johnny’s line of sight and that didn’t bode well; left a bad feeling in Johnny’s gut. With his left hand on his Egg and his right hand on the steel PokeBall he had rescued, Johnny thought to himself. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

   All things considered, Johnny only had two goals in this race. The first of which was to learn the Spin technique in the hopes that it’d do what the doctors couldn’t for him. The second of his goals was to come second. He didn’t want to win - that was Gyro’s thing.

   Johnny could feel his bad habit coming back now too. He had a lot of bad habits but this one was just aesthetically ugly. He did it when he was nervous or panicked or even just bored. He was something of a nail-biter. Bit of a kiddy habit and one he had never quite kicked. And as his fingers curled around the curve of Gyro’s steel PokeBall, he could feel the urge come back. The urge to pick apart his nail.

   ‘What should I do, Gyro? I don’t want to put you or Rihannon or myself in danger.’

   Once more, the useless feeling crept over Johnny. Once more, he was behaving cowardly even though minutes prior, he had resolved to become a better and braver person: the battler he used to be. He hoped for a miracle - like with Cobalion. But that was selfish and impossible. That sort of lightning didn’t strike twice.

   It was quiet beneath the rocky shelf. In the slight distance, Pokémon hissed and spat but then something human grew louder in volume. A wet voice singing.

   ‘Row, row, row, yer boat… gently down tha shtream, merrily, merrily, merrily, life’sh but a DREAM!’

   The monstrous hook that had been hanging off of Pork Pie’s fishing line swung beneath the rock shelf. It hooked Johnny’s cheek and dragged him up, he hit his head. Blood pooled in his mouth. Pork Pie jerked it around and Johnny’s body rag-dolled beneath the shelf. He braced himself and all he could think was if this Trainer was after that thing in his left hand then fuck it, he could have it!

   With his brain rattling, Johnny couldn’t think straight. Noises blurred together: Pork Pie’s nursery rhyme and the Pokémon bickering among themselves, but something cut through it. The Egg began to hatch.

   Johnny could see it jump and leap next to him. The top of it began to crumble and something began to pierce through where the Egg was damaged. He couldn’t believe it.

   The shell shattered. It was like glass that had been frozen: an explosion with shards going every which way. Johnny yanked on the hook, his motivation to change revived. Perhaps that’s all it took with him and his moods. He didn’t have to do this for him. He just had to do it for Gyro and Rhiannon and now this Pokémon, whatever it was.

   Johnny ripped the hook out of his mouth. He had a hole there now but maybe, if he was lucky, a Moonlight or Synthesis would fix him up and Gyro could patch up the rest. Johnny threw the hook back at Pork Pie. He wasn’t going to cower anymore.

   The Pokémon crept by his side. It inspected his wound and Johnny stared into its eyes. It had a mopey looking face that was hard to take it seriously. He knew this Pokémon or at least he thought he did. He’d never seen anything like it. This creature… it gleamed.

   It was bright blue. Partially: a black face and body with these yellow eyes that were utterly watery-looking. It possessed sharp claws but being a newborn, they could not be wielded despite the somewhat fierce pose it took as it inspected Johnny.

   It chattered to him. Whimpered. It was as though speaking in tongues. His left hand felt aflame. The rock inside of it rising to his palm and he could see the patterns once more. This creature was convincing him that Johnny shouldn’t barter away his life using that stone in his palm.

   The Pokémon glanced around, timid and frightened but then decided to charge. It thrust one of its blades into the air and bolted. Johnny wriggled out of hiding and his voice rasped against his throat. He called out to his Ampharos.

   ‘Discharge!’ he yelled.

   His Ampharos’ eyes gleamed. It let rip a great, thunderous charge of energy. The orb upon its brow and its tail, they sparkled with unknowable intensity. The three flying-types were swept up in the attack and all were left with critical injuries. Ampharos chattered bravely.

   Pork Pie bent over the rock and he glared at Johnny.

   ‘Sha, I knew you were hiding there, twerp!’ he growled.

   Johnny glanced at his Pokémon. It was expertly clambering up the rocks and it passed Gyro. Johnny hadn’t seen him earlier because he was slightly obscured by the rock formation, but he was there. His hair tied up in a knot over an overhanging shaft and his body, limply dangled. He’d been so close and, yet Johnny hadn’t even noticed. Johnny licked his lips. He counted the seconds until his Pokémon, whatever it was, reached the summit.

   ‘Give me the Dragon Shtone, Jyawnee! Gimme! Preshident Valentine shed that you can’t have it!’

   ‘Dragon Stone?’ Johnny echoed.

   Johnny’s eyebrow twinged. That was a familiar thing to hear but that couldn’t be right. Dragon Stones were just… myths. But then again, he’d always been wishy-washy on spirituality.

   ‘Chumimi!’ Johnny’s Pokemon chattered.

   ‘Huh?’

   Pork Pie reeled back, and he turned around to defend himself, but it was too late, Johnny’s Pokémon had already attacked. Johnny had never seen a newborn Pokémon attack like that - and this wasn’t Johnny’s first time raising a Pokémon from an Egg too.

   His Pokémon appeared to have used Psycho Cut.

   The blades upon his Pokémon’s arms glowed white and the energy, when released with a cross-shaped thrust, had turned pink. The cuts crisscrossed against Pork Pie’s back and pushed him far, far away from Johnny. He skidded over the ground; carving up mud and grass. He groaned in pain and for now, he wasn’t a priority.

   Johnny’s newborn hopped down from where it was and put on a brave face for him. It got up on his toes and whimpered.

   ‘Yeah, you did great, pal.’ Johnny replied as he stroked the Pokémon’s head. It felt vaguely metallic; as though it wore armour or perhaps a shell.

   His Pokémon’s blade clattered against his arm and he lowered it. His Pokémon cut through the arm warmer he wore.

   ‘Hey, don’t do that, bad!’ he roused.

   ‘Chumimi.’ it chattered to him as it revealed something written on his arm.

   Johnny inspected. These were letters he knew. It wasn’t Unovan nor Kalosian; probably not oriental either. He couldn’t tell. What did they mean? It seemed like a two-word phrase given there were two distinct sections; one curling around his wrist and the other carved into his forearm.

   He frowned. There was too much happening at once. Too many mysteries - Gyro, this Pokémon, the Dragon Stones, the Zombie Salamence, now this writing, the terrorists, and even Stephen Steel came to mind - that honestly, he was scared to solve but he knew he was going to now. He was immersed too far in it. Completely in the thick of it with no escape.

   ‘Just what’s happened to me in this fuckin’ race? The race… Wait,’ Johnny glanced at Pork Pie, ‘is it possible that if he’s after the Dragon Stones, then so’s the President? And if the President’s after ‘em and they’re clearly real, does that mean… No?’

   It sounded too insane.

   Johnny didn’t have his head up his ass. He read the newspaper, and even someone as lonely as him sometimes catches wind of gossip. All in all, there was no one who didn’t know to be honest. Even kids knew. Everyone knew about Team Pax Unova and their stupidity.

   There is a group of thugs - misfits and outcasts with their heads in the clouds, really - who were bragging about wanting to find the Heroes of Truth and Ideals. They wanted the power of the dragons, Reshiram and Zekrom, openly and loudly. They were pathetic really and were often thieves and other never-do-wells, so no one listened. Called them insane but really, if it is possible that Pork Pie was a member of Team Pax Unova then that would put the President in a bad spot since Pork Pie if he really is who he says he is, is a chosen Trainer.

   No, the President surely had strict picking regimes. It was too insane to even ponder that. But still, maybe this has been the goal of the terrorists who had attacked them: to find the Dragon Stones and resurrect the legendary dragons.

   And, potentially, it ran deeper than that. There was the possibility that the Steel Ball Run was just a facade and its true conception was not birthed so that Unova could pick a Champion but rather the disaster of old; bringing back the destructive forces of the dragons which had once ruined it.

   Johnny shivered. Unova had survived that sort of chaotic onslaught once but it couldn’t twice. Not with the population and infrastructure in place today. Then, he had another terrifying pondering, did Gyro know about the existence of the Dragon Stones and was that knowledge he had entered this race with or were his questions about Dragonspiral Tower genuine?

   Johnny glanced at his Pokémon. It had amused itself during his reverie by playing the steel PokeBall Gyro had dropped.

   ‘It’s full, mate.’ Johnny told it. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be friends with it. Pokémon take after their masters after all.’

  It whimpered, and Johnny was still no closer to working out just what had hatched from the red and black Egg. It was similar to something he’d seen before, but he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t even on the tip of his tongue though.

   The PokeBall whimpered and Johnny’s eyes widened. Knowing Gyro, it was going to be a big Pokémon because Gyro was a steadfast believer in bigger is better; even his “smaller” Pokémon tended to be about as big as Johnny. He raised his arms protectively, waiting to be squashed but it didn’t happen.

   Instead, there was a pale red flash of light and his Pokémon had been absorbed into it. Johnny couldn’t believe his luck. Gyro had dropped an empty PokeBall and just when Johnny needed one, really. He’d have to make up for pinching it, though.

   ‘Dyammit…’ Pork Pie muttered.

   Johnny lifted his head. Gyro! He had to be quick and get Gyro loose.

   Pork Pie hefted himself up and he counted the teeth that had been knocked loose in the fight.

   ‘One, two… shree…’ he muttered. He glared daggers at Johnny. ‘I won’t forgive you for thish!’

   Now his speech impediment was more pronounced than it had been before. He was drooling all over himself as he changed, became more viscous.

   ‘Beck!’ he cried out.

   He tossed out a PokeBall and an Unfezant free of magenta plumage sprung free. It took to the skies with a gorgeous soar. It swirled back around and dived on Gyro. It took him by the scruff off his neck. He groaned and seemed to have become half-conscious which was unfortunate given the height he was about to be dangled from.

   ‘Wired!’ Pork Pie snapped.

   His Skarmory lifted its weary wings and crooned. It flapped and got off the ground. It swooped around, and Pork Pie managed to pull himself onto its back in the nick of time.

   ‘Oh no, you don’t!’ Johnny yelled. ‘Power Gem!’

   Out of thin air, small fragments of rocks swirled around Ampharos’ head. With a dramatic push of its arms, the rocks were sent flying through. From ochre brown to a brilliant, jewel-like blue they turned. Skarmory’s wings were battered with the rocks but it didn’t seem like it had done a lot of damage.

   The Unfezant flew ever higher with Gyro in tow.

   Johnny placed his newly filled, steel PokeBall on his belt. He crawled out of hiding and knelt up. He was going to run away. With the rock in his hand as his new hope, he would save both Gyro and himself. With his Ampharos by his side, he would battle Pork Pie Hat Kid and win. If that boy truly had a badge, then Johnny was going to be the one to claim. Otherwise, knowing that he knocked out three of his teeth would do.

   Now the real fight between Pork Pie Hat Kid and Johnny was to begin.

   Johnny took out a second PokeBall. He tossed it out in the direction of Unfezant.

   ‘Go, Sara!’ he yelled.

   Out of a silver flash, his ever playful Emolga tossed and turned, loop-de-looped and generally kicked up a fuss. He rolled his eyes over its dramatics. He glanced at Ampharos who was still fairing strong; especially against Swoobat and Sigilyph who were quite injured.

   ‘Sara, you keep an eye on Gyro. Rhiannon, use Discharge!’ Johnny instructed.

   ‘Nuh-uh-uh!’ Pork Pie taunted. ‘Attack Beck and I kill Gyro.’

   Pork Pie sounded serious for someone likely insane. His Unfezant began to unhook its claws around Gyro. Gyro must’ve slipped back to unconsciousness because he didn’t seem to recognise.

   ‘Never mind, Sara, come back!’ Johnny yelled.

   His Emolga swooped back and began to hover close to him, awaiting further corrected orders. The Unfezant dug its claws back into Gyro’s shoulders ago and Johnny saw a squirt of blood. He swallowed. He could be easily wrapped around Pork Pie’s pinkie finger with Gyro’s life hanging in the balance like this, but he’d be brave, bold; like Gyro had been against Stroheim, unafraid to gamble his life and the lives of the others. As idiotic and dangerous as that had the potential to be.

   Pork Pie licked his lips. He had Johnny right where he wanted him: locked between attacking and defending which made him a sitting Ducklett.

   ‘Oi, Jump Monk, ushe Hypnoshis on that fuckin’ Emolga!’ Pork Pie instructed.

   Johnny clicked his tongue and returned his Emolga to its PokeBall. With no target, the attack would either fail or he’d be the one hit with it. Pork Pie spat in disgust and changed his mind though.

   ‘Nevermind, use Shybeam on that dyam Apharosh!’ he yelled.

   And Johnny had another bright idea as the spiralling, mystic energy spiraled out from the belly pattern on his foe’s Sigilyph. There was a vulnerability in Pork Pie’s strategy to use Gyro as leverage over Johnny. There was a small, tiny moment in which blows could be safely exchanged.

   ‘Rhiannon!’ Johnny piped up nervously.

   Pork Pie eyed Johnny and slobbered, panted, was just a breath away from delivering instructions to his infernal Unfezant. Johnny hoped that his Ampharos could see the opportunity that Johnny could see without him pointing it out. It was reliant on whether or not his Ampharos had value in keeping Gyro alive, he supposed.

   He sputtered. ‘Do whatever you want.’

   His Ampharos’ shoulders raised, and its tail lowered. It was something of a defiant act and Johnny wondered if he had placed too much trust in his Ampharos as it took the brunt of the Psybeam. But then, its tail gleamed; a pale scarlet. It threw its head back and butted it forward. Around its face, rocks manifested out of thin air and were thrust forward.

   As the rocks were sent flying, they transformed mid-air. From dull and angular to gorgeous gems, they battered Sigilyph. Sigilyph moaned, an odd chirpy noise that was dragged out over an agonising moment, and its wings fluttered in futility. It crumpled in on itself and Pork Pie was forced to withdraw his Sigilyph from the fight.

   It would appear that Johnny’s Ampharos had seen the same opportunity as Johnny. When Pork Pie attacked, his Pokémon became too concentrated on the first order and would be delayed in accepting any further orders until the first one had been completed. Therefore, the vulnerability that Pork Pie had was that when he had attacked, there was a small gap in his defenses in which Johnny and his Ampharos could fight back using.

   ‘I’LL KILL YOU JYWANEE JYAWSHTER! AND THAT PIESH OF SHIT GYRO TOO!’ Pork Pie raged. ‘Ysabel! Use Assurance!’

   His Swoobat flapped its wings and cooed. Pork Pie gripped tightly onto the shoulders of his Skarmory and breathed heavily. Globs of his slobber dripped down from his gaping mouth; due to the change in his teeth, it seemed like he was having troubles with keeping his mouth closed.

   ‘Beck! Sky Drop, now!’ Pork Pie shrieked.

  Johnny’s heart dropped as he swung himself around as quick as he could. His hand began to ache. His throat burned, and he could taste bile at the back of his tongue. But he wasn't scared. He was petrified for Gyro’s life as he could only watch as that Unfezant took him ever higher, but Johnny wasn't frozen. He still moved; blood still pumped, and he knew what he had to do.

   His right hand unclipped a PokeBall from his belt. His left hand’s pain grew stronger. He could feel himself reject the Dragon Stone lodged in his palm. It was a horrid, horrid feeling of pushing through blood and bone but all the same, electrifying.

   Johnny could feel the pulse of electricity inside of him. From the twitch of his brow to the tips of his toes, he could feel it. It pushed him forward when he didn’t think he was strong enough to haul through. The toe his boots pushed into the ground and it was weak, weaker than the crawl of a toddler’s first experimentation, but he moved. It was slight; barely an inch forward but he had moved.

   Johnny trembled as he realised that his lame legs had moved. His mouth dried. He was suspended in utter disbelief as his body and his mind began to move independently of each other. He didn’t even remember instructing his arm to toss a PokeBall, but he saw one of his Level Balls sail through the air in a half-hearted arc.

   His fingers curled into his palm. His nails chinked against the stone slowly rising out of his palm, stretching out his skin and cutting forth. There was no blood, but it made his stomach churn regardless. The stone was warm, and it sent jolts of electricity through Johnny but it didn’t hurt him. Yet, despite it, his legs numbed once more. Not even the slightest sensation remained. It was as though it had been a dream but behind him, Johnny could see where his boot had scuffed up the ground; sincere proof that he had moved.

   Pork Pie slung his fishing rod cross his chest so that the hook, bloodied and all, dangled just behind his shoulder. He wiped his mouth.

   ‘I thought you were a crip…’ he slurred.

   From Johnny’s PokeBall, his Unfezant popped out. It kicked its PokeBall back to Johnny and it flew fast but he was afraid to catch it. He didn’t know what to say back to Pork Pie so all he did was glare. A stalemate appeared to have been induced between them. There was near silence; only the beat of wings.

   ‘Beck! Pork Pie yelped. ‘Drop ‘im!’

   Pork Pie whipped his fishing rod towards Johnny. The hook flew out and impaled Johnny’s hand. Pork Pie struggled with Johnny’s weight just slightly but managed to drag him around regardless. Pork Pie’s eyes gleamed when he saw something unusual manifest in Johnny’s palm.

   Johnny whimpered slightly as he got a face full of grass and mud. He kept his neck craned and he yelled out to his Unfezant.

   ‘Save Gyro!’

   Pork Pie’s eyes widened, and he salivated. ‘Sho that’s where you were hiding the Dragon Shtone!’ he gasped.

   Johnny’s Ampharos rushed to his side and murmured. Johnny grabbed hold of his Ampharos and told it to take him the opposite way; away from Pork Pie and more importantly, closer to Gyro. He yanked at his hand and despite Pork Pie’s best efforts, Johnny was able to remove the hook, but it was at a cost. The Dragon Stone embedded in his palm popped off but for now, Johnny couldn’t care. He could steal that back later, and a badge too if he was lucky because he was certain that despite how grim this situation seemed, he was going to win against Pork Pie Hat Kid. His hand bled profusely so that was another serious wound and he still had his cheek to worry about. But, again, Gyro took all priority.

   Pork Pie’s Unfezant had flown up as high as it could muster. Any further, and it and Gyro would have been specks in the distance like stars. There was a horrible pause and the Unfezant dropped Gyro.

   ‘Hah! He’sh dead fer sure!’ Pork Pie spat.

   Pork Pie leapt at the ground. He scrabbled around. Johnny was dragged away just in time, but he wasn’t Pork Pie’s goal anymore. Johnny positioned himself, so he was close to his Unfezant who was circling, waiting for the opportunity to recapture Gyro. Ampharos guarded Johnny. It was still battling well despite the scrimmages with Pork Pie’s Pokémon.

   Gyro was dropped. He plummeted like a rock. Johnny’s heart stopped, and he couldn’t look. He clenched his eyes shut and he tried to barricade himself from dreadful thoughts, but they permeated his headspace. He could only hope and pray that Unfezant would be there to catch him.

   ‘Un!’

   There was a cry. Johnny hesitantly opened his eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief.

   ‘Skies?’ he called out.

   The Unfezant nodded. Thank goodness, that was his Unfezant. Being both females, it was a little bit difficult to distinguish his Unfezant from the foe’s. Johnny got out a PokeBall. He smirked as he opened it.

   ‘Sorry to bother you again Sara but this time, you’ll battle for real.’ he told the Pokémon that resulted from the silver flash.

   His Emolga danced through the air, perhaps eager to join the fight once more after being prematurely recalled. His Unfezant swooped in beside Johnny. Gyro’s body was limp, and Johnny held onto him.

   ‘Sara, attack that Unfezant, use Shock Wave.’

   ‘Ga!’

   His Emolga flew off; a determined look in its eye. It was as though simply having his motivation rejuvenated was more than enough for his Pokémon to start responding better. Johnny’s breaths remained uneven. He glanced over his shoulder at his Ampharos.

   ‘Rhiannon, we’re getting that Dragon Stone back from that kid.’ he told it. ‘Attack the Skarmory first, it’s on its last legs, surely. Use Thunderbolt!’

   His Ampharos nodded and dashed forward. Johnny turned his attention back to Gyro whilst battles were happening left, right, and centre around them both. Not to mention, Pork Pie was still searching for the lost Dragon Stone, but it didn’t matter. None of that matter.

   ‘Gy-Gyro…’ Johnny whispered to him. ‘C’mon, wake up Gyro.’

   He swallowed. Gyro was sporting some light injuries, all things considered, but it wasn’t good. Johnny popped another PokeBall and now it was his Clefairy joining the fray.

   ‘C’mon Angel, be a good girl - for Gyro. Use Moonlight.’ he told it.

   ‘Fairy!’

   Johnny sighed. Relief swept over him immediately as an illusory full moon bloomed and pink mist wafted. He clutched Gyro tight around his shoulders. He was heavy, but Johnny was strong. He had good faith in his upper body muscles. Johnny kept whispering Gyro’s name, gently like he was trying to wake the baby from his nap.

   Gyro’s lips parted, and his sandy eyelashes fluttered. His eyebrows twitched, and he seemed like he had been revived. His vision was out of focus, but he’d know that starry beanie anywhere.

   ‘Johnny?’ he murmured. He shook himself awake and Johnny’s grip on him loosened; he sat up and was essentially in Johnny’s lap. ‘We’re under attack.’

   ‘Ha!’ screamed Pork Pie. ‘I found it! I found the Dragon Shtone!’

   He sprung up and Gyro, despite the delicate constitution he was of, was alert and ready to fight.

   ‘What does that mean? Dragon Shtone? Stone?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Yeah, I know but I’ve got it handled; this is my battle. I’ll protect you.’ Johnny’s eyes started to water. ‘Because I can’t give it up; the Dragon Stone that was in my left hand. I don’t want to hand it over. Gy-Gyro, my legs moved, Gyro.’

   Johnny’s tears became heavier and Gyro couldn’t believe the news.

   ‘I’m so thankful.’ Johnny’s voice tripped over his sentence with the utmost sincerity. ‘I’m thankful that I joined the race. And I’m gonna risk my life for that Dragon Stone. I was really thankful that a useless person like me could have a purpose for living.’

   Gyro noticed a green glint on Johnny’s waistline.

   ‘The Egg… Where’s it gone? Ah, you brought my PokeBall back too. Lucky, it was empty so it wouldn’t have been a big loss. No matter, c’mon, Johnny, protect me, you say? Then stop babyin’ me and get out there, that pipsqueak’s got something you want, right? I’m fine thanks to you an’ Angel.’

   ‘Y-Yeah.’ Johnny replied weakly.

   The moon over them faded. Gyro wriggled out of Johnny’s way. Johnny faced Pork Pie who was slobbering excitedly over the Dragon Stone in his grubby, chubby fingers.

   ‘I DID IT! I TOOK THE FIRSHT DRAGON SHTONE!’ he shrieked. ‘They told me I was a mistake; that I’d never be more than a grunt for Pax Unova but I showed them! I’m invinshible! Now everyone will reshpect me and I can climb the ranks! I DID IT!’

   ‘C’mon Johnny, whilst he’s distracted.’

   ‘Rhiannon, use Thunder Punch!’ Johnny yelled: confident, puncturing all reverie of Pork Pie’s.

   ‘Wire-!’

   He glanced around and realised that his Pokémon had been felled by Johnny’s. Johnny’s naughty little Emolga twirled around his head as though to tease Pork Pie that such a small critter had been more than enough to knock out his precious Unfezant. In his panic, he was slowed. Already, Ampharos had closed the gap between them in its dash.

   Ampharos swung its arm back. Its paw glowed with great, electrical energy that left a blinding, crackling blur of yellow in its wake. Ampharos’ punch connected with Pork Pie’s chest and he was sent flying. He crashed into a tree and sprawled out like a doll at its base.

   ‘Fantastic.’ Johnny said. ‘Now, we’ve got the first Dragon Stone back! And, if that fugly asshole isn’t a liar, the first badge too!’

   ‘The first, what?!’ Gyro exclaimed. ‘Whoa up, did you just say first badge? Him? A chosen Trainer? That pipsqueak? Fuck me, you better be pulling my leg. Here, why don’t I go see what I can sticky finger from him.’

   ‘You better not be cheating me, Zeppeli. Or else you’ll be getting a Thunder Punch too.’

   ‘After you disgustingly heartfelt declaration that you’d protect me, naw. Cross my heart and hope to die, I’d never do that to you, Johnny.’ Gyro said as he began to leg it which only did more to rouse Johnny’s suspicions.

   He knew a guy like Gyro would want the claim of the first badge since it was all he thought about. Still, Gyro quickly picked up the Dragon Stone and he rifled around in Pork Pies pockets. He was completely out like a light. Head lolled back and tongue poking out of his mouth. He looked to be on death’s door.

   ‘Ah ha, what is this, my friend?’ Gyro muttered to himself and he soon turned on his heel.

   Gyro returned to Johnny.

   ‘One Dragon Shtone for Johnny Joestar, I believe anyway.’ Gyro said as he handed Johnny a black in colour stone with strange patterns on its top surface. ‘And, the first badge of the Steel Ball Run.’

   ‘Thank you muchly.’ Johnny replied as he accepted both objects from Gyro.

   Gyro flicked the brim of his holey hat with his thumb. ‘Now, it seems things got exciting back there, so we must have a lot to talk about.’

   Johnny returned his Pokémon to their PokeBalls. He got out another two to replace them; a Level Ball and a Zeppeli original steel PokeBall.

   ‘Yeah, you could say that.’ Johnny replied, wry.


	27. VS THE TUBELINE BRIDGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Gyro arrive at the Tubeline Bridge.Meanwhile, Lucy discovers one of the President's peculiarities.

   The Dragon Stone had left a faint etching of itself on the skin of Johnny’s palm but after another two seconds, Johnny’s hand was good as new. It didn’t even have a trace of injury.

   ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not interested in taking it but it’s a little freaky, don’t you think?’

   ‘So, you didn’t join the race to gather Dragon Stones?’

   ‘Johnny, I don’t even know what the hell a Dragon Stone is.’

   ‘Thank goodness…’ Johnny muttered.

   ‘All I want is to finish this race and get amnesty, so I can save Marco. Plain and simple… But I wouldn’t be surprised if there are others - terrorists - in this race who think I’m in it for whatever’s going on with these Dragon Stone things.’

   ‘I think the Steel Ball Run might be a conspiracy or a cover for the President to collect the Dragon Stones. I know, that sounds insane, but that Pork Pie Hat Kid was a legitimate chosen Trainer so unless he’s acting under dual orders, I think the President might be connected to Team Pax Unova.’

   ‘Team what? Oh goodness, just what kind of sport have I been caught up in?’ Gyro interrupted. ‘The Hell is a Pax Unova?’

   ‘I… don’t know. I just know that’s what a team of thugs call themselves and that asshole over there, is one. And they’re after the Dragon Stones so they can bring back the Dragons of Truth and Ideal because supposedly, they’ll unseal if they get too close to each other or something.’

   That struck a chord of memory in Gyro’s head but Unova myths were beyond him. He didn’t even know where he wouldn’t have heard such a story; not in school, not by his father’s mouth.

   Johnny got out a map. ‘I think it's possible…’ he said as he scanned over it. ‘That the course of the Steel Ball Run coincides with the general location of where Dragon Stones are…’

   ‘Wait… don’t tell me? You want to gather these Dragon Stones too?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘I’ve already decided. I will.’ Johnny gripped his arm. ‘I realise it could have catastrophic results after all, those dragons’re are bad news if they’re real but… But that Dragon Stone was the reason I could move my lame legs. Maybe that power can heal me. I’m not going back on this decision; even if it goes to hell and back. I’m not going to be a quitter. I’m going all the way!’

   Gyro began to pick up some of their scattered belongings. He wore a serious expression.

   ‘Well then let’s make one thing clear: I’m not going hunting for these Dragon Stones.’

   ‘I understand. That’s my selfish goal.’

   Gyro straightened up. He glanced at Johnny and remembered that he had one of his steel Balls with him but something else caught his eye.

   ‘Wait, what’s that on your arm Johnny?’

   ‘Haven’t a clue.’ Johnny shrugged.

   ‘Wait… That says… “Move your legs” in Old Kalosian; why do you have that on your arm?’

   ‘I... I don’t know. Wait, you can read it?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘I know a thing or two. Mysterious forces are at work here, I reckon. Forces that go beyond yours or my understanding of the spiritual world, possibly but you might be onto something. Maybe those Dragon Stones can do somethin’ for ya, produce a miracle. But that’s just speculation, don’t get your hopes up.’

   ‘I know. I know damn well.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Alright, I think we’ve spent enough time dawdling. Grab your things and call back your Zebstrika back over here.’ Gyro said. He held his hand out. ‘Oh, and gimme me fucking PokeBall back, I know it's empty but it’s mine. Not letting you keep everything you find.’

   Johnny became sheepish. ‘No can do, Gyro.’

   ‘Johnny…’ Gyro drawled. ‘What do you mean?’

   ‘Let me introduce you to my latest team member…’ Johnny clicked the button on the steel PokeBall and in a flash of light, his Pokémon came out.

   It seemed exude starlight, but it faded after a moment, but the blue of its head still caught sunlight, almost reflecting it off its spike. It cooed at Gyro and Gyro stared it down with an irritated brow. Beneath such heavy weight, Johnny’s Pokémon appeared to cower.

   ‘What the fuck is this thing?’ Gyro asked.

   He crouched down and began to play with it. Or, more, accurately, roughhouse with it. It ineffectively scratched at Gyro’s hands and made whining, chattering noises before wriggling away from him. It latched itself onto Johnny’s left hand and gave the appearance that they were holding hands.

   He crouched down and began to play with it. Or, more, accurately, roughhouse with it. It ineffectively scratched at Gyro’s hands and made whining, chattering noises before wriggling away from him. It latched itself onto Johnny’s left hand and gave the appearance that they were holding hands.

   ‘I call it Tusk.’ Johnny said. There was a firm sense of resolution in his voice.

   ‘Good name. Too bad it's too cool for a ‘mon like it, look at it, it’s terrified of me.’

   ‘Any baby would be lookin’ at your mug.’ Johnny teased.

   ‘What is it? I feel like I’ve seen one before but there’s something… off.’ Gyro stroked his chin. ‘It suits you Johnny though.’

   ‘You think?’ Johnny said.

   ‘Yeah, it’s blue and it's got a face that just makes you want to bully it.’ Gyro replied in good jest to meet Johnny’s insult.

   ‘Well, I know what you mean. It gave me a major sense of deja vu too, but I just worked it out myself.’ Johnny began to explain.

   Tusk, the mystery Pokémon, chattered. ‘Chumimi.’

   ‘And its speech impediment isn’t helping its case either.’ Johnny continued.

   ‘Seriously, no matter how I look at it. It’s bit of a runty Pokémon but I’m not surprised given that it hatched from a damaged Egg. As a Doctor, Johnny, I regret to inform you, but I don’t believe you hatched a happy and healthy Pokémon here. I think it’s a bit… special, if you catch my drift.’

   ‘Damn right, it’s “special”. And I don’t mean it like you mean it, asshole. We’re busting all sorts of myths today but it’s true. Oddly coloured Pokémon do exist, and this is one. It’s a Pawniard but blue for some reason rather than red.’

   Gyro’s eyes widened. ‘No.’ he gasped.

   ‘Yes.’ Johnny confirmed.

   Gyro looked at the Pawniard which was almost out of view, obscuring itself behind Johnny but he could see it now. He’d encountered a fair few Pawniard in his day; they tended to horde on Route 15, back home. He hadn’t seen one in recent memory which hadn’t helped either.

   Gyro whistled and palmed his temple. ‘Johnny, you lucky bastard, you should’ve entered the lottery today with the crazy luck you’ve had.’ He sighed. ‘I guess since you’ve filled my empty PokeBall, you can keep it. Just this one. Don’t expect any more freebies off me. I don’t care if you encounter another oddly coloured Pokémon or not. You’re not getting anything off me.’

   ‘Roger.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Well, welcome to our quest, Tusk. I’m Gyro and let me just say, you’re gonna end up regretting siding with Johnny because according to his other Pokémon, he is not very nice.’

   ‘Hey!’ Johnny roused. ‘I’m a changed man after today. So, you're gonna eat those words one day.’

   ‘We’ll see about that.’

   Gyro had a sing-song voice about him as he mounted his Mudsdale. He could hear it in Johnny’s voice. He did seem to be something of a changed man, but Johnny seemed to have moods, so it would be interesting to see how long this conviction lasted, or, more importantly, if he could convince his Pokémon of it.

   He leaned back in his saddle and grinned at Johnny.

   ‘C’mon, let’s do this! Let’s cross Tubeline Bridge, enter the Third Stage, wind up at Opelucid City, and then the rest of the race! And I’ll let you come with me, Johnny. Don’t forget, I’ll place first and you’ll be right on my ass in second.’ He paused, huffed. ‘But no more of this surprising me with Badges bullshit. Remember the deal is, I get five, you get three so pick two more and stick with that!’

   ‘Got it, Gyro.’ Johnny replied, and a small, confident smile spread over his lips.

   Gyro looked to the sky and three hit air balloons drifted into view.

   ‘They can’t disqualify me. I’ll show them what’s left of our wounds and Pork Pie’s fishing rod’s got blood on it. They’ll understand.’ Johnny said panicky.

   ‘Good, good.’ Gyro said and then something else caught his attention.

   He turned his head and a bit of wind toyed with his long loose hair. His grin was partially erased. The pound of hooves soon filled the near silence of the wind. But it only sounded like one mount but there were other, sloshing noises which implied rapid movement also. Soon, a unique pair came into view.

   ‘Who’re they…?’ Gyro murmured to himself as squinted into the distance.

   Johnny turned his head. He saw a Sawsbuck with floral decals upon its antlers and it was competing with a man. The man had an odd form of running but it was doing him well since he was neck and neck with a Sawsbuck.

   ‘Johnny! Grab your things, Dio and Sandman’re here!’

   Gyro bolted after. Johnny hadn’t expected any charity from him; not after all having him fetch both the badge and Dragon Stone. So, Johnny had one of his Pokémon - a Minccino he named Showbiz Blues - grab anything too out of reach for him. It was eager to tidy up; usually was, after all he had trained it to do that after his accident. Soon enough, he was good to go and already right behind Gyro; right on his Mudsdale’s thick and bushy tail.

   Meanwhile, in the sky, hot air balloons drifted. A small and fluffy Noibat circled one of them and from its mouth, came a distinctly human and female voice; that of its Trainer, Maria the Commentator. With her lungs, she can drown t even the roar of the ocean lapping at the cliffs nearby. The afternoon is creeping in now over the once morning blue sky and there’s bit of a muggy breeze. As the Tubeline Bridge is approached by a pack of Pokémon and Trainers, so does the end of this stage.

   Johnny had visited the Tubeline Bridge a few times back when he was professional Trainer and jockey. It was known for all sorts of company savoury and sweet. He would know. Usually, it wasn’t packed. But right now, up ahead of Route Eight, was a countless mob of people yelling and screaming; some had signs. He couldn’t believe it. The poor prostitutes that were known linger here were either making a lot of money right now or none at all.

   ‘In the lead, we’ve got Prince of the Kalosian racing and battling circuit, Diego “Dio” Brando!’ Maria yelled. ‘But Sandman is following right behind! So is Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar, who finished fifth in the last stage and, more excitingly, has been confirmed to have battled and won the first Trainer chosen by acting Champion, President Valentine!’

   The finishing line of this stage was where a ribbon tapered across the beginning of the Tubeline Bridge. There was a lull in commentary which hailed a pause of contemplation and planning amongst the racers. In this slight dip of silence, the racers were free to compete until someone did something particularly interesting. And it was Gyro who happened to act first.

   He swiftly pulled head of the pack, bursting through the blockades of Pokémon and people clustered at this segment of the nearly finished stage. Diego threw him a dirty look which was met with mischief and then, there was the boom of speakers. Once more, Maria yelled. Her voice reached far and wide over the thundering hooves.

   ‘It’s Gyro Zeppeli!’ she shrieked. ‘Right before the finishing line of the Second Stage, it’s Gyro again! He jumps into the lead!’

   The mounts continue to surge forward. The sun shone brightly overhead and there was the slightest whisper of a breeze. The roar of the ocean was dull on the ears; too distracted by the gallop of Pokémon.

   The pack thinned slightly. Gyro took to a pointed lead and Sandman and his party lulled back. Diego and Johnny raced either side of each other. Both seemed the same distance from behind Gyro’s tail.

   ‘Only a straight line of six hundred metres remains! The marshy terrain, the unbearable heat! The Trainers have travelled one thousand and six hundred kilometres since the race started eighteen days ago but as we near Route Nine and Opelucid City, the most skilled Trainers are racing at the front! It’s a re-enactment of the First Stage!’ Maria storied.

   Conclusion seemed so close and so far at the same time. Tantalising, shortly put. The wind picked up. The sound of people cheering, there were so many people clustered along the Tubeline Bridge, it looked fit to sag despite its strength. Balloons and other light, floaty things were released but no one was distracted by them at first.

    Not even Gyro as he battered through a newspaper which had been blown from someone's hand. He fiercely continued onwards, not even shaking his head or flapping his hands or arms to get rid of it. Instead, he let it cross his face. Upon rolling off Gyro’s face and shoulder, it flew in a panicky direction towards Johnny and Johnny was not as focused as Gyro.

   It hit him in the head then coiled around his arm. In the collision, Johnny’s movements became flurried and irritated. His rivals were able to overtake him as a result. Maria’s voice rang out as the developments continued.

   ‘Now Diego Brando is picking up pace!’ she commentated. ‘And Sandman continues to fly across the land on those glorious legs!’

   Despite the distraction it had caused Johnny, he didn’t immediately get rid of it. Rather than flinging it off, he grabbed at it as something about the front page had caught his eye.

   ‘Gyro!’ Johnny called out. ‘Holy shit, Gyro! You need to look at this newspaper!’

   Gyro huffed, not particularly caring for more of Johnny’s presumed drama but he answered back anyway.

   ‘We can win, Johnny! Keep it up at full speed, this stage is ours!’

   ‘I can’t believe this… But, it’s the newspaper, Gyro, you need to see this!’

   Johnny extended his arm, he held down the newspaper against it and Gyro ruefully looked back. He caught glimpses of a headline regarding the third stage of the Steel Ball Run race, but it was the picture above it that he realised that Johnny wanted him to look at. The coincidence was utterly unlikely.

   ‘Look at this mountain! Look at those crests, they’re the exact same as the scarring on my arm: “move your legs” in old Kalosian… I don’t think the scars are letters but a place, I think there might be another Dragon Stone there.’ Johnny explained. He sounded mad and desperate.

   ‘What?’ Gyro’s voice came across the tight distance between them as hoarse.

   In his distraction from Johnny, it was enough for the other competitors to creep up behind him and get the edge over him. It only took a single moment to completely change the line-up of the pack.

   The beginning of the Tubeline Bridge was a hair’s breadth away. Sandman surged past the mounts; his Pokémon trailing in tow and doing their best to block their rivals from entering Sandman’s space. But, their combined efforts weren’t enough. Diego’s Sawsbuck and Johnny’s Zebstrika burst through. Gyro and his Mudsdale completely shuffled backwards in the mess.

   ‘Diego Brando finishes in first!’ Maria announces as hooves rumble upon the grate. ‘First place goes to Diego Brando! Johnny Joestar in second! Third is Sandman! And Gyro Zeppeli is in fourth!’ Maria’s voice rang out over the thousands of cheers from the sidelines.

   Mudsdale slowed slightly as Gyro fumed. He glared as Johnny chased after Diego, leaving Gyro in the dust. He glanced around as he tried to recall the final few moments of the race. He was certain he had been ahead of all of those blokes who had just managed to take first, second, and third ahead of him.

   ‘W-Wait? What’s Maria saying? That can’t be right?’ he muttered in disbelief before it soured, turned to vehement annoyance. ‘Oi! Johnny Joestar, you fucker! Wait!’

   ‘And they continue onward! No stopping for rest! Each Trainer continues straight onto the Third Stage where another one of President Valentine’s Trainers will await them? What sort of battles will unfold here, I wonder!’

   Gyro recollected himself and he continued to zoom forward, right behind Johnny’s Zebstrika. As a group, they continued to barge past through the Tubeline Bridge. It’d be a matter of minutes before they crossed the thing.

   ‘So, you made it, Gyro Zeppeli. I will not be able to help you as you’ve made an enemy of yourself…’ Mr Steel lamented; he sweated nervously as he watched Gyro’s mount speed off into the distance from his carriage on the train.

   From the sidelines, Mr Steel watched gravely. There was something about bad news which travelled fast as he was not the one to inform President Valentine of Pork Pie Hat Kid’s defeat or who it was to. Now, thanks to Maria, this whole part of the countryside knew.

   From President Valentine’s carriage, strange news however took a little longer to get to him.

   ‘Thank you, dear… Now what is it?’ he asked as he accepted a piece of paper from one of his Pokémon which he had sent as a messenger to Pork Pie Hat Kid’s hospital bed.

   Pork Pie was no longer a member of the Team. He was too thoroughly beaten, a shame as he had once shown great promise.

   ‘Hm, a letter…’ President Valentine mused aloud. ‘A phrase in Old Kalosian… “To move your feet”, or something to that effect, depending on how you translate it.’

   He had been shaving himself, but he put down his razor in favour of picking up a pen. He continued to mull over the contents of the letter - stunted sentences and other things which made little sense - and what had been announced.

   ‘Something unexpected has a risen. Pork Pie Hat did not battle Gyro Zeppeli, nor did he lose to him. Instead, it was Johnny Joestar who took the Feather Badge I gifted Pork Pie Hat. This may imply, however, that it is not Gyro Zeppeli with one of the Dragon Stones. Instead, it is Johnny Joestar who has hidden it somewhere in his person.’

   President Valentine paused and licked his lips. He glanced at his Pokémon clustered around him, listening to his prattle curiously with gleaming, beady eyes.

   ‘I’m really quite thirsty, here, watch your master do tricks for a change. Watch this, this is how you drink beer from the can at once. And no, you gluttons, none of you are getting some, beer is not good for you, my darlings. Barely good for me.’

   He stabbed the beer can he chose from his cooler with his pen. There was a foamy explosion which he put his lips to. He guzzled greedily from where the can had been pierced. Barely a moment passed, and the can was completely drained.

   ‘Much better.’ President Valentine commented to himself. He crushed the can in his hand and began to admire himself in the mirror before him; he also held up the letter, in case the old Kalosian words might mean something in reverse. ‘Now, was it a Light Stone or a Dark Stone, Johnny Joestar has come into possession of? I think we can assume that he hasn’t absorbed it into his legs or else, he might be walking once more. Truth, ideal, but not justice… which one appeals to young Joestar the most, I wonder. From that, we may come to understand which spirit has chosen him.’

   President Valentine spoke bitterly. His Pokémon drew in closer and because of their thick furs, he grew warmer. But, also because of what beat in his chest. He could feel it rise through his skin once more, so he undid the buttons of his thick, pink overcoat and then the buttons of his white blouse. He watched as a large rock that almost shaped like an anatomically correct heart protrude from beneath his skin, between it and his muscles. Next to it, a few loopy scars dug out of his skin. He half smiled, half admired it.

   ‘Anyhow, we now have two of the Stones pertaining to the draconic myths of Unova.’

   He smiled almost serenely, and his Pokémon edged away from him. They were slightly unsettled by their Trainer’s appearance, not sensing something was fully right about it. Their absence, meant he would cool somewhat so he buttoned up his blouse once more. The rock sank further into his body now as well. He swivelled around in his chest and glanced over where he had Lili’s Map set up, on display.

   ‘Given that we’re now down one man in resources, it may not be a bad idea to let Johnny Joestar claim the next Dragon Stone. If he has it, it will be easier to find. Of course, that is gambling on the assumption he has realised the power the Dragon Stones contain and whether or not he wants said power. But, if he does find it, the locations of three of the Dragon Stones will be known and only six will remain unknown.’

   He paused and mused something over. ‘Prior to the beginning of this race, I had no concerns but now, it feels as though unprecedented forces are beginning to gather. Connections I didn’t see until previously, I just hope my next “chosen” Trainer acts within the boundaries I desire but, I have a bad feeling. That man has always been something a sentimental, that could pose an issue, couldn’t it, my darlings?’

   His Pokémon trilled sweetly, as though in agreement. But, amid their voices, there was something unknown. Something human: a gasp.

   President Valentine scowled. He looked around.

   Lucy held her breath and got away from the keyhole. She had been the one to gasp because she had been the one to eavesdrop. She clamped her hand over her mouth and she trembled by the door. She flattened herself against it and became slick with sweat. Her heart quickened, and her breaths turned to pants.

   What was that? She asked herself. In his chest…?

   Things concerning President Valentine were becoming more stranger and more mysterious, the longer he remained as part of her husband’s company on this train.


	28. VS JOJO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After encountering an injured Diego and deciding to leave him alone, Johnny and Gyro make camp for the night.

   Further down the Route, Opelucid City still seemed a forever away. The forest was thick. In the distance, mountains and other scalped ridges of rock and earth were present. The air though was light and cool and seemed utterly frigid despite proximity to the ocean and cliffs.

   Stage Three had been relatively quiet so far. Diego had gotten ahead first and hadn’t been seen for a while. Who knows where Sandman had gone, possibly darting through the thicker parts of the forest where only human feet and his dainty Pokemon could tread. Gyro had spent most this stage so far, right behind Johnny. He was still furious about the outcome of Stage Two. Not only had he lost the badge to Johnny but he had also placed fourth - and there was to be no mistaking it as he had even picked up the updated roster to double check in the vague hope someone had gotten it wrong, but alas.

   It was just great. Gyro couldn’t believe his bad luck. With the outcomes of the last two stages, he had only accumulated thirty-six points. Though, the optimist in him was telling him he could easily boost that score if he came in first in this Third Stage by one hundred points. Then, if he claimed this badge too, that’s another pretty trinket with a lot of power. It was going to be three-five split, his way between him and Johnny. For certain.

   Unfortunately, unless Johnny decided to be bit of a bastard in this next leg of the race and claim first then that won’t have amazing consequences for Gyro. If Johnny were to claim first, then that would give him over one-hundred-and-eighty points and a badge. Or worse, if he managed to collect this second chosen Trainer’s badge as well then that’s another two badges for him and none for Gyro which isn’t ideal either.

   Gyro still couldn’t believe it Johnny had promised that he’d finish after Gyro and then, he went ahead and took second places for himself. He was a horrible, selfish person, obviously. And on top of Johnny the promise breaker, there were still Sandman and Diego to think about. Any outcomes involving either of them weren’t good either.

   Johnny came to a sudden halt ahead of Gyro, completely breaking him of his thoughts. Gyro reared up beside him. Johnny began to speak.

   ‘Look, Gyro, Dio’s sitting down over there.’ Johnny said, and he pointed a little bit ahead of them both. ‘That’s Dio’s Sawsbuck, it’s weird… they’re off course.’

   Gyro came in a little closer to Johnny and got out his binoculars. He peered down them and saw a saddled-up Sawsbuck grazing on the green grass. By its back hoof, there was a blue helmet that was dirty, streaked with something brown-red, possibly blood. Further away from the helmet and the Sawsbuck, was Diego. He was curled up, holding his head and was pale as a sheet. Diego moved slightly, and it became apparent to Gyro that he was wounded. That was most definitely blood on his face.

   ‘Looks like he fell.’ Gyro said, smugly thinking about that could be a bit of good luck for him. ‘Yeah, he’s bleeding from his cheek, I think.’

   ‘He fell?’ Johnny replied, incredulous. ‘Dio actually… fell?’

   ‘Difficult terrain out here, not exactly a nice racing field out here, like you jockeys would be used to.’ Gyro paused and continued to commentate what Diego was doing. ‘He’s fallen over, hand over his head… he’s clutching something in his other though. Dunno what, something small.’  

   ‘I just find it hard to believe. Dio falling off his mount.’ Johnny squinted ahead. ‘But, by the looks of things, seems like he’ll probably fall behind. May even have to drop out of the competition altogether.’

   Johnny’s Zebstrika’s tail flicked about as it became to turn around.

   ‘C’mon, Gyro, let’s keep going.’

   Gyro stayed put and threw his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Diego, ‘Didn’t think you were that sort of person, Johnny.’ Half a puff of laughter come out with his breath. ‘I mean, I’m the type to laugh at other people’s misfortune, sure, and it’d be great if he doesn’t get any points or the badge in this round, but it might be a life-threatening situation. We should probably check on him, at least until the medic wagons can catch up.’

   ‘I think it’s best if we stay away from Diego. He and I have had our scuffles in the past; we were “rivals” as kids. I’m bloody lucky he didn’t realise it was me at first in that First Stage ‘til the very end, stars know he would’ve tried to make the First Stage hell for me if he had caught on sooner. Can’t believe I’m saying this but, if my legs weren’t lame, he would’ve realised quicker.’ Johnny said seriously with a furrowed brow.

   ‘Come on, where’s your compassion.’ Gyro insisted.

   ‘He can’t be trusted. Dio is Kalos’ “prince of racing and battling” but he will do anything for money and the win. It’s not just what people say, I’ve seen it. You’ll see what I mean the moment he enters a battle… About half the battles and races, we’ve run, I can say with certainty that he played dirty. There’re plenty of shady rumours about him too. For example, when he was twenty, he married an eighty-three-year-old widow to inherit her fortune. The widow died half a year later. It’s rumoured that he killed her…’ Johnny explained.

   ‘So, what you’re saying is…?’ Gyro prompted sceptically.

   ‘He may be trying to trick us. I’m calling Fake Tears on this one, Gyro. And in this situation, it’s possible that he could be connected to the terrorists. After all, you two’re of the same nationality but likely on different sides of the political spectrum.’ Johnny hurried up his little speech.

   Gyro glanced down his binoculars again. Diego was convulsing but likely, it was just a bad cough. Gyro’s stomach wretched.

   ‘Maybe if he’s about to lose to you, he might try and lower your guard, but he’s ranked first at the moment, so why would he do that? His bleeding’s getting worse too. I’m gonna check on him.’

   Gyro pulled his Mudsdale in the direction opposite Johnny. He began to close in on Diego. Johnny watched, suspicious and keeping a keen eye. Gyro dismounted and Mudsdale kicked up a little bit of a fuss, but Gyro kept it calm. Johnny grunted and decided to come in a little closer too. His Zebstrika began to make huffy noises.

   ‘What’s the matter, girl?’ Gyro asked his Mudsdale. ‘The ground here’s a bit weird, ain’t it? Might’ve spooked that dainty little Sawsbuck of Diego’s but c’mon, you’re my big girl, sharp ground should be your territory.’

   Gyro turned his attention back to Diego and called out to him: ‘Oi, Diego, hey, you alright? If you want the rescue team, just say so! I’ll get ‘em!’

   Diego trembled. He got up slightly and gave both Gyro and Johnny a killer glare. Whatever he was holding in his right hand continued to take importance to him as his fingers curled in tighter against his palm.

   ‘Get lost, you two!’ he snarled. ‘In the end, I’m going to be the one who’s going to pass you up.’

   Gyro chuckled, impressed, and he got back up on his mount. With two shakes of his Mudsdale’s tail, he was already turning back.

   ‘C’mon Johnny, you were right. He’s plenty healthy. Lots of energy too, I see.’ Gyro laughed to himself.

   Diego collapsed again; head on his hands. His eyes fluttered close. He was exhausted. Blood dripped from his forehead to the ground. At least those two had moved on. A Pokémon - one belonging to Diego - came out of hiding. It walked with a slight limp and curled around him. Its head by Diego’s. It’s body protectively coiled around its Trainer’s. Its khaki green scales gleamed in the sunlight; its jaws caught on the ground, digging in slightly as it fell asleep; a sleep almost like death.

   Johnny and Gyro continued to move onwards. Gyro zipped ahead slightly whilst Johnny battled with his watch and map. Sundown would come for them soon, time had gotten away on them at some point. Even with the beautiful, Unovan scenery, it all blended together with the long hours on mount back. Perhaps retiring for the evening wasn’t a bad idea since it was safe to assume they were positions one and two in the race currently since Sandman was nowhere to be seen.

   Eventually, they did. Dark came over quickly. At first, it was just a few stars and half a moon in the sky but then, the colour of it all blackened and a cold came over. The two sat opposite one another, blankets and bedding rolled out. A fire crackled brightly between them. A billy was boiling, and a pot was steaming over it.

   ‘Still not happy with you for taking second place.’ Gyro huffed.

   ‘I know, I know, I shouldn’t have distracted you, but it was important.’ Johnny said.

   ‘To you maybe. The Dragon Stones’re your quest.’ Gyro looked out over the mountains. ‘Man, Opelucid City’s real tucked away, eh?’

   ‘North-westerners are stereotyped to hate everyone, that’s why.’ Johnny said.

   ‘Really?’

   ‘Yep, all inbred too because of it. You can tell because they all have six fingers on their hands.’

   Gyro interrupted Johnny. ‘Wait, that was a joke, right? I can never tell with you. You Unovans have such a weird sense of humour, I’m starting to think because Sandman’s all serious too and the crap Maria talks over the speakers is ridiculous.’

   ‘Yeah Gyro, that was a joke.’

   ‘Oath. Well, you seem to know a thing or two about this area, what else can you say? How far is Opelucid from here?’

   ‘Well enough, I guess. Oh yeah, we’re getting closer to where I met Angel a few years back… It’ll probably be another three or four days ride. Who knows, maybe one day this Route’ll be a nice smooth direction going one way but until then, we just gotta make do. And speakin’ of Angel, we should probably let our Pokémon have something to eat. They worked real hard today. Well, mine did. Winning that badge and all.’

   Johnny sounded real shit-eating and Gyro sneered.

   ‘Well, you’re not wrong. This’ll be the first time we’ve seen each other’s teams in full, won’t it? We didn’t get a chance to do that first night of Stage Two ‘cause of everything that happened.’ Gyro mused.

   ‘Maria said it’s been eighteen days since the start of the race. Hasn’t felt it, eh?’

   ‘Nope… Stars, we’re irresponsible Trainers. Barely feeding our battling ‘mons.’

   ‘Yeah, just giving ‘em treats here and there as we go. But to be fair, when they’re in stasis, they don’t feel a thing and not like we’re treating ourselves much better.’

   Gyro began to pick out his PokeBalls. He cocked a golden smile at Johnny.

   ‘I’m kind of excited ‘cause I know I haven’t shown you everyone.’

   ‘And you haven’t seen all of mine yet either.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Count of three: one, two, three.’

   Dozens upon dozens of red and silver flashes filled the air like fireworks. The forested silence shattered and there were all sorts of hungry mewls and growls. Johnny and Gyro were swamped by the presence of their Pokémon.

   ‘Man, you sure make your favourite types obvious: normal, steel, and ground.’

   ‘You can’t talk either, Johnny. You’ve got a few electric types in your ranks.’ Gyro stuck out his chest. ‘I think if we keep getting into trouble like we do, it’ll be good if our Pokémon can get along, in case we wind up in double battles or hell, even situations where one of us is knocked out unconscious.’

   ‘Yeah, I agree completely.’ Johnny nodded. ‘So how best do we do this? Not exactly a boy-girl mixer where we introduce ourselves and dance.’

   An idea flickered in Gyro’s eyes. Even through the din, Johnny could see his green eyes brighten and for some reason, it came Johnny a bad feeling. He could sense that a bad idea was formulating behind those glistening eyes of Gyro’s.

   ‘Did you know, Johnny?’ Gyro began very matter-of-factly. ‘That in the wild, most Pokémon play-fight and to show friendliness and submission, they’d expose their bellies to one another?’

   ‘No,’ Johnny said tersely, ‘can’t say I did know that.’

   ‘So, why don’t we model that behaviour for them? If our Pokémon know we’re friendly with each other, they’ll start playing amongst themselves and before we know it, they’ll be a close-knit bunch ready to fight in all sorts of combinations.’

   Johnny sighed. Gyro got up. ‘This doesn’t feel like a good idea?’

   Gyro laid down on Johnny’s lap, hands behind his head and grinned up a Johnny.

   ‘Nice and comfy.’

   ‘Get off me, asshole.’

   ‘C’mon, play along. Rub my belly or something.’

   ‘Gross, no.’

   ‘It’s for the greater good.’ Gyro announced.

   ‘This sounds extremely fake. The only time my Pokémon have been “friendly” like this with another was when I caught Showbiz trying to mate Sara.’

   Johnny frowned and there was a slight hue of red in his cheeks as he glared into Gyro’s eyes.

   ‘Do you consider us of the same Egg Group?’ Gyro teased.

   ‘The hell does that mean?’ Johnny replied, cheeks reddening because he knew exactly what Gyro was insinuating, but remained annoyed by such stupidity regardless.

   ‘Nyo ho, ho, do you think I’m attractive Johnny?’

   ‘Oh, fuck off. You wear the most obnoxious grilles I’ve ever seen in my life and that lipstick you wear, not your colour?’

   ‘Oi, don’t diss the gold. Or the green. Not like you can talk with that shade of blue you paint your lips with.’

   ‘Rack off already.’

   Johnny lifted up Gyro and he rolled off of Johnny’s lap and into the grass; closer to the fire. He got up and sat next to Johnny. He gave Johnny a fair bit of space though since those jokes were, admittedly, in poor taste.

   ‘Okay then, new plan, we’ll just give ‘em space for now, maybe. Let ‘em sniff each other and whatnot.’

   Gyro began to distribute some dry feed among his Pokémon from a can. They lined up and let Gyro feed them.

   ‘Jailbreak, my Aggron, but you already knew that.’ Gyro said.

   His Aggron was gentle with him, knew better than to bite down hard as Gyro fed it.

   ‘Yeah, and Problem Child the Bibarel and Squealer the Furret. Something or rather… oh, Mean Streak the Krookodile, I remember because Maria said its name over the speakers. December? No, Decibel is the name of your Linoone, ain’t it? But I can’t remember the name of your Snorlax though, I recall you use it in Stage One. Or the name of your Ursaring. You’ve got a solid team, I reckon. Good defense and attack. I think your Pokémon suit you.’

   ‘Aw, thanks, Johnny, you sap.’ Gyro teased.

   ‘Shut up.’ Johnny scowled.

   Gyro fed his Zangoose next. It inspected his hand thoroughly before turning its nose up at him.

   ‘This little priss is Bonny. And you better eat, girl, or you’re going hungry.’ Gyro muttered before talking to Johnny again. ‘You were right on the money with Decibel, though. The Snorlax is Big Jack… Oh, and who else were you having trouble with? Custard Pie, that’s right. It's Custard Pie the Ursaring.’

   ‘Custard Pie?’ Johnny echoed. It tickled at his memory but this was a memory buried by more than a few weeks but that couldn’t be right. ‘It’s coming back to me now.’

   ‘Thought it would since Custard’s the one you saw me battle that Honchkrow on the beach with.’

   ‘Yeah, must be it. Obviously.’ Johnny mumbled but the bell that name was ringing really did feel deeper than a few weeks.

   ‘And now, the rest of the gang, I guess. There’s Heartbreaker the Nidoking, Riff Raff the Pangoro, Snowballed the Beartic, and last but certainly not least is Poor Tom the Diggersby. Tommy was the first Pokémon I caught, and I can’t help but be proud of him most, you know? He was just a wee little Bunnelby when we met when I was eight! What about you Johnny, who was your first catch?’

   Gyro looked towards Johnny and his team.

   ‘Skies the Limit. I caught her when I was… five, maybe? Closer to six. Younger than you, that’s for sure.’ Johnny said as he tickled beneath his Unfezant’s chin.

   ‘Prodigy bastard.’ Gyro muttered.

   ‘Not really. I flexed my memory of your names, I wanna see who you remember.

   ‘Well, for starters there’s Angel, that bitey little Clefairy of yours, sheesh. Judy… Can’t remember Judy’s full name.’

   ‘Jewel-Eyed Judy.’ Johnny piped up, he couldn’t help himself.

   ‘There’s Tusk, of course, in the best PokeBall ever devised by man courtesy me.’

   ‘Thanks again.’

    ‘Showbiz Blues is the name of your Minccino, I know that. And um, your Ampharos over there is Rhianna or something. And the, uh, Emolga is Elise.’

   ‘No and no. Rhiannon and Sara respectively. Where’d you get Elise from?’ Johnny screwed up his face.

   ‘You’ve battled, like, exactly once Johnny. And I was like, completely out of it for most of said battle, too.’ Gyro huffed. ‘Okay, okay, so what’s left, the Pokémon I haven’t seen ‘til tonight: the Donphan-’

   ‘World Turning.’ Johnny interrupted.

    ‘Leavanny.’

   ‘Dinah Flo - and you’re not allowed to treat her like you would, say, Angel. Dinah Flo was specially trained as a service Pokémon to aide my disability stuff. I mean, sure, she can battle but don’t be overly affectionate with her or she might get confused.’

    ‘I’ll remember that, promise. Okay, and who’s left? And… And… your Meowstic? Where’d you get that, Johnny? Friends in high places?’

   ‘No, I caught him myself. On that Route in Kalos with the big and fancy gold castle outside of… Camphrier Town. That’s your hometown, isn’t it?’

   ‘Well fuck me. You’ve visited one of the King’s palaces, fuck, you’ve visited the palace my family and I work for?’

   ‘Only the grounds, I wasn’t allowed inside. Me… me and my brother, we weren’t allowed inside. My father was just making a visit. We played outside, and I encountered a wild Espurr and I caught it and that’s how I ended up with my Meowstic, his name is Hypnotised.’

   ‘Hm, how old were you when you visited?’

   ‘Five or six.’

   ‘Okay, I would’ve been… twelve, thirteen at the oldest, so you probably visited when I was on my little Pokemon journey. Weird. If you don’t mind me asking, but what kind of business did you and your family have in Kalos?’

   ‘This may come as a surprise to you but my side of the Joestar family, we immigrated from Kalos.’

   ‘Hm, you don’t say?’ Gyro replied sarcastically. ‘A Unovan with Kalosian blood.’

   ‘Shut up. But yeah, the Joestars in Kalos are somewhat upper crust. Aristocrats, super rich compared to me and my dad. At the time, the reason we were visiting was because there had been an anniversary in the family. Back in ‘68, my Aunt, Uncle, and older cousin were part of a disastrous carriage crash. It claimed my Aunt’s life and my cousin had been but a baby. My Uncle and Father were, all things considered, pretty close since they’re twins. Stupidest fucking names in the universe. George Richard and Richard George, Dick the younger brother is my father. Worst part is, out here in Unova, in the racing business, my dad goes by his middle name, so we’ve got twins named “George”. Even the women they married have similar names, “Mary” and “Margaret”.’

    ‘Maybe it’s a twin thing?’ Gyro suggested with a shrug.

   ‘I think it might be a Joestar thing.’ Johnny paused and frowned. His hand tightened. ‘Guess what my cousin’s name is?’

   ‘How the fuck am I know? George the Second? Richard Junior?’ Gyro guessed haphazardly.

   ‘Jonathan.’

   ‘Is that name supposed to mean something to me?’

   ‘Huh? Did I not tell you? “Johnny” is short for “Jonathan”. And guess what his nickname is?’

   ‘Johnny?’ Gyro guessed.

   ‘Ba-bum, nope. “JoJo”. And my nickname during my pro days was “JoJo” too. Talk about fucked naming conventions? Makes your weird-ass nicknames seem reasonable.’ Johnny teased.

   ‘Hey, I pick out very cool names, thank you very much. But, like, that’s actually really weird.’ Gyro agreed.

   Johnny looked up at the stars and Gyro mimicked. He could sense something was off. The way Johnny talked about his family was very bitter.

   ‘Life ain’t fair.’ Johnny said without seeming prompt.

   ‘How come?’ Gyro asked, wondering if Johnny wanted to elaborate, perhaps vent.

   ‘Between me and the other JoJo, how come I outlived him?’ Johnny paused, licked his lips and turned tense. ‘He was barely older than me. Twenty-two, I think. Maybe twenty-one. He was lost at sea. It had been just days after his wedding to this Erina Pendleton chick. At least she’s got a kid to remember him by… JoJo was the nicest, kindest person I’d ever known and well, he lived such a short life. It’s not fair. I’m not a saint, Gyro, you know that. But how come I outlived him?’

   ‘That’s a big question, Johnny.’ Gyro replied. ‘One that doesn’t have an answer. But, the religious man in me, would say that, maybe, your destiny hasn’t come to you yet. Maybe his had? Who knows? But, I’m sure he’s in Heaven if that lightens your mood.’

   ‘We barely knew each other. I’d only met him on that trip to Kalos I took as a kid.’ Johnny replied. ‘But I always heard about him growing up though. “Why can’t you be more like you’re cousin, Jonathan?”.’

   Gyro didn’t know if that “Jonathan” was supposed to pertain to Johnny or his cousin.

   ‘But thanks, Gyro. It did lighten my mood a little bit. If anyone deserves to climb the stairway to Heaven, it’d be JoJo.’ Johnny sounded incredibly mournful, miserable even. ‘Hey, Gyro?’

   ‘Yeah?’

   ‘I know we’ve only been traveling together for a little while and I feel like we barely know each other still but… But I’m glad to have met you. But I don’t think I’ve got some destiny which’d warrant me surviving my accident.’

   ‘You’re still young, Johnny, you don’t know that.’

   Gyro got up and he smiled wistfully. He took a deep breath. ‘Dinner’s ready. Let’s hope we can thin it so it feeds all the mouths present: Tusk, Slow Dancer, Angel, Judy, Skies, Sara, Dinah Flo, Rhiannon, Showbiz Blues, World Turning, and Hypnotised.’

   ‘And Valkyrie, Jailbreak, Decibel, Bonny, Mean Streak, Problem Child, Riff Raff, Heartbreaker, Snowballed, Squealer, Big Jack, Poor Tom, and Custard Pie.’


	29. VS A MOTHER'S LOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of Diego Brand retold.

   In Kalos, nestled in the south-east of its geography, is a town renowned for the river that flows through it and is called Aquacorde Town. It isn’t exactly an impoverished region but people do overlook it on account for its remoteness and the fact it isn’t a major landmark. It is a rural area with much agriculture.

   In the town of Aquacorde were the two parents of a newborn baby boy. However, this child was not born to a fortunate family. The parents were unable to care for their child so they resolved their wills and came to a conclusion. Their child must perish. Having grown weary of their poverty-stricken lives, they thought themselves able to commit such an act.

   It was a terribly dark and starless spring night, the night the infant had been born. It had been towards midnight and a storm was slowly closing in on the area. It would be the perfect cover for their deeds. They wrapped the baby in white cloth and his father dug him a grave. His mother lowered him into the shallow hole and the child did not stir. The mother placed the corner of the sheet over the child’s face and his father began to shovel dirt back into the hole.

   They finished their job then attempted to proceed with their lives as though the child had never been born at all. As they turned their back of their slowly suffocating infant, it was as if divinity itself had decided to intervene. The clouds in the sky wretched and lurched. A vicious downpour began to lash the countryside. The river was swift to flood and as it charged through its winding ditches and through the din of the ferocious rain, a crying baby could be heard.

   The mother’s heart stopped. Her cold will wrenched and was softened with maternity. The woman turned her back on her grave husband squinted through the darkness and rain. Despite it all, she was able to see a small and chubby arm rise through the waters. She was horrified at the sight, at her husband, and at herself.

   “Diego!” she called out.

   Her husband grabbed her before she could leave his side. He hugged her close but she continued to reach out towards her drowning child. Much like the river rose, as did an anger inside of her husband for she had called out a name but this was a slow and bitterly cold anger.

   “You had a name for that child?’ he asked. “Don’t! Once we have a stable life, we can have as many babies as you want! This one is dead: it’s died in the flood!”

   She began to weaken at the knees; collapse.

   “We’ll have another but this one died in the flood!”

   It may have been the rain that streaked down the sides of her thin face but no, it was too warm. Tears clung to the side of her face, wet and salty. She clutched at her husband’s hands. Her voice cracked as she begged and pleaded with him.

   “We were wrong! I don’t need money!” She sucked down a hasty breath. “If you could just quit your drinking…”

   “What?!” her husband yelled. He raised a fist her face as his other hand clamped around the back of her neck. His anger flashed like lightning and his action became as violent as the storm. “You dare scorn your husband like that?”

   “I-I’m sorry!”

   The mother tried to squirm away but it was useless. She was only let go once her husband had struck her face hard enough for blood to be spat from her mouth. She was knocked to the ground and injured but her maternal determination gave her enough strength to continue defying her husband’s will.

   She crawled into the fearsome waves of the flooding river. She called the name of her child. The name she had chosen in the spur of the moment. Prior to the action, she had been confident with abiding by her and her husband’s plan but the theory was so much different to practice. That was her child… She couldn’t let him go.

   “Diego!” she called. “Dio! Dioooo!”

   Her breaths turned sloppy with exhaustion as her dress drank in the river water. The river accepted her as she paddled out to what was going to be her death. She sputtered and choked as rolling waves with foamy crests dunked her under but she persevered. Cold to the bitter bone, she reached out as her legs kicked futilely.

   It was terribly hard to hear and see but she was determined even though she was drowning. Dying. Even as her head went beneath the water’s choppy surface, perhaps for the last time, she continued to try. She saw her son, his hand bobbed above the waves. Imbued with a last burst of maternal determination, she reached out and she saved him.

   “She’s drowning…” her husband seethed. “Hah! Now I’ve gotten rid of both of ‘em. Good riddance.”

   She kept his fragile body above the water whilst she tried not to sink. Her smile was weak but her heart swelled. She heard her baby boy make noises. Tired and exhausted but he was alive. The gurgling and crying was proof that he was alive and well. It revived some strength in her and it affirmed her spousal rebellion.

   She burst to the surface and inhaled deeply. She raised her infant high.

   “He’s alive!” she proclaimed. Tears, warm and regretful, streamed down her face as the rain began to lighten. “Thank the stars! Thank the stars! I’m sorry, I won’t ever abandon my son again - ever! I’m sorry!”

   After these events unfolded, the father of the child abandoned his family. They were about as good as dead out here, drenched as they were so he left. Once the rain stopped, it was safe to return to the banks. The mother crawled up to the height of a grassy hill and collapsed, keeping her son safe and close. In the morning, the unconscious mother and son were found by a man.

   The man was employed by a farm nearby Santalune City. Having found the woman and her child, he took pity on them and rescued them. It was there, the woman changed her and her son’s name to “Brando” and she began working on the farm. It was a large operation that reared many Pokemon of both dairy and meat purposes along with crops as the land was fertile and large.

   The five years of service to the farm that followed were hard but it did improve their poverty-stricken lives somewhat. Watching Diego grow up the biggest pleasure in his mother’s life. He was such a happy child and he had some endearingly peculiar habits. As a child, even when things are terrible, things can be beautiful and Diego he certainly sees the world that way and sometimes, when the excitement overwhelms him too much, his hands begin to flap. It’s oddly adorable but sometimes, it can be exhaustive as his tantrums are just as spectacularly intense. His mother supposes it is all is a part of childhood.

   Even at age five, Diego seemed to have this bright spark within him. It’s admirable in such a situation. Though he is small and scrawny, he was unafraid of even the biggest Pokemon. He had a talent for handling them. The Pokemon were naturally gentle around him and whatever he asked of them, would be performed by him. It was rather magical.

   Despite it all, his mother had high hopes for him. However, she had her concerns.

   “Dio, did you grow thinner?” she asked. “Here, eat my portion too.”

   She offered him her mug of stew. Diego laughed as he denied his mother her generosity. He pointed above his mop of curly blonde hair. He tipped forth his empty mug; emptied of even the thinnest scrapings of sauce.

   “I’m already full!” he told her. “Besides, I didn’t grow skinnier. I grew taller.”

   His mother worked from dawn to dusk to provide for them both. Though the job was secure and provided a roof over their heads, the facilities they were given access to were limited. The slept on blankets and hay. There was little to be eaten and what could be eaten, they ate from mugs with old and bent out of shape utensils. However, they had nowhere else to go so they lived as they could make the most of what little they had.

   However, that changed one day when his mother was cornered in the barn by the same man who had brought her to this farm. He pressed against her body and she scratched against the walls. She had tried to revile him but he was forceful. He kissed her neck and forced her leg over his.

   “St-Stop! Please don’t, please!” she begged him.

   She struck his face and he dropped her. She remained firm against the wall but she trembled. There was terror in her blue eyes.

   “St-Stop it!” she yelled.

   “Wh-What, I like you… C’mon, just a little bit. It’s been five years now, is this how you treat the man who you owe your life to?” he replied, alarmed by her behaviour.

   She grabbed at her slipping sleeve and hugged herself. “I am truly grateful but please stop. If my son finds out that I’m having a relationship with you, a married man, then what would he think? What would your children think?”

   Huffing, the man turned his back on her. “You’re right. I was mistaken. I must have misunderstood. I’m truly sorry.”

   He walked off and Diego’s mother regained her composure. She was haunted by a terrible feeling brewing in her guts. She feared that there might be unexpected repercussions to this encounter. It was a dreadful feeling and one that was soon proven correct by dinner when Diego had gone to fetch their mugs and made a discovery regarding them.

   Their bottoms had been punched out. He lifted them up and inspected them. He couldn’t comprehend why they would be like this. Broken with their bottoms unfurling like the petals of some sort of exotic flower.

   Not a moment later, a loud voice burst through the barn: “Dinner time!”

   Diego’s Mother was chilled by the voice.

   “Gather ‘round everybody, time for your meal! Line up!”

   Diego podded up the man who was serving stew from a piping hot cauldron of a pot. Diego lifted up his cup and before he could speak, the man looked down on him - patronising and endeared - and spooned a larger than usual portion of stew into the broken mug Diego was trying to draw attention to.

   With a great slap, the stew fellow onto the ground. Diego gasped. Words caught in his throat.

   “Oh no, laddie,” the man patronised Diego with a high pitched and whiny voice, “there’s a hole in your cup, there. What a waste! One person’s worth was spilled. Now I can’t give you the nice warm stew. Oh dear, and these utensils are the landlord’s. We need to be careful.”

   “Someone put holes in our cups. It was me or my mother.” Diego informed the man.

   “Oh really? Who in the world did then, hm, tell me if you find out who did, young lad…?”

   Diego’s Mother swallowed. She came closer and guided Diego away from the man.

   “May we just borrow a couple of cups? Me and my son… we can’t eat without them.”

   The man paused and considered the woman’s plea. He sighed, as though about to give into the woman’s request.

   “Alright, but since you broke the landlord’s utensils, you must buy new ones. That’ll be…. Three hundred PokeYen.”

   “I… I don’t have that much.” the woman replied. “Once I receive my salary, I can pay you back.”

   “Well, we’ve known each other for years. Perhaps we can work something out. Oh, but I’m afraid advances are permitted here… I’m deeply sorry.”

   Diego left his mother’s side even though he was afraid. He grabbed a pail and brought it back to the man. He pointed to it.

   “In here!’ he piped up bravely. “Could we have the stew in here? Even just one person’s worth.”

   “Don’t be a fool, boy! That’s a Pokemon’s pail! The Miltank and Mareep don’t want the smell of gravy in their bucket!”

   Diego looked around. He tried his best to think of a solution as the other works began to draw in closer.

   “Sorry, but could you two stand aside? Everybody else is waiting for their feed.”

   Diego looked up at his mother with watery eyes. He held onto her apron for comfort.

   “Mother, I’m not hungry anyway.” he told her. Lied.

   She listened to him tersely but then saw his eyes light up.

   He let go of her and took off one of his shoes which were to big on him.

   “But I just thought of something terrific! We’ve got our shoes, we could pour soup in them!”

   “No, baby, it’s fine.”

   His mother strode past him. Diego didn’t know why but he felt awful. He watched as his mother approached the man. She raised his hands to him, as though asking for communion.

   “Please, could I have some stew.”

   The man looked at her as though she were crazed but she spoke calmly. A fierce determination glinted in her eyes. It was a sort of determination that left the man scared - though slightly - of her.

   “Dio’s portion, please. In my hands.” she said. “Go ahead, please pour the stew.”

   The man poured her out a portion of stew. The burns were immediate. Her hands turned red and raw. The smell of burning flesh was odorous and inescapable. Diego’s Mother accepted it all unflinchingly. She didn’t even s much as blink at the pain of her hands blistering.

   Diego shouted but it was too late. His mother’s will was absolute.

   “Thank you very much.”

   She turned around carefully and without spilling a drop, she knelt in front of her son. She offered him her hands.

   “Mother! I’m not hungry, Mother! Let go!” he yelled at her, tears streaming down his cheeks.

   “Now, I’ve gotten you something to eat. Go on and have some, Dio.”

   “No, I’m not hungry!”

   “No matter how poor we become, we must not forget our dignity. What about tomorrow? The day after? Eat this and grow big and strong… so that you can protect your mother.”

   Diego gurgled. His fists clenched tightly. He trembled and shook.  But, he put his hands beneath his mother’s and lapped from her palms.

   “We can buy cups next month. But, until then,  go on and eat this.”

   Diego sobbed as he ate from his mother’s hands.

   His mother continued to work tirelessly on the farm where they were given pittance.  She continued to work and work. A year later, she passed away. She contracted a disease known as tetanus and died at the young age of twenty-three. Diego believed that the germs that came in through her burns were the cause of her disease. Before she passed away in her bed with Diego by her bedside, his mother used her last breath to give him guidance for the life he ought to lead.

   She tucked a curl of his golden hair behind his ear. Her fingers were fat and bandaged: permanently damaged because of what she had done. She smiled fondly.

   “Don’t be sad, dear. It’s all because of my sin. It’s not your fault. But Dio… Even the most untameable Pokemon on this farm will listen to you. They will eat from your hand when they bite the others. Not to mention, they let you ride them. When you are a little older, you should go out and Train your own. I believe that it is your talent...”

   She took another breath and rested in her bed. Another breath but then none. Her eyes fluttered and she had breathed her last. She peacefully passed away. Diego took her words to heart.

   He intuitively believed that man to be the cause of her death. As he grew older, he swore to get revenge. Be it through personal satisfaction or other means, he would get his revenge. He was going to show them all embarrassment. He would show that man, he would show that damnable father of his, and all the other workers on the farm who had ignored his and his mother’s suffering. He would show them all humiliation far greater than allowing stew to spill. He was going to take their pride and scatter it all. He would never forgive any of them. All of them are guilty.

   At age six, Diego’s personality had become completely twisted.

   To do so, he would need strength the likes of which had never been seen before. He was determined to prove himself and become fabulously wealthy. He was going to climb to the top of society and there was no easier way than through training Pokemon and become a Grand Duke of the Battle Chateau.

   It was a dangerous journey to make as a child so young but to go west and find his wealth, that was his only option. He refused to remain on this farm. Diego swore to get his revenge by any means possible.

   He stole away on wagons. He stole Apricorns and food. He even stole a new identity.

   In shoes too small and with matted hair, even with an Axew by his side, Diego was rejected by the staff of the Battle Chateau without second thought. Even though with his team of Axew and Bagon had won plenty of battles - against even the Baronesses and Barons of the Battle Chateau who were five to six years his senior - he was rejected until fortune strutted his way.

   “Oh dear, my poor and silly nephew. He always gets so carried away training his darling little Pokemon.”

   Diego looked up at the eccentric man who had suddenly grabbed his shoulder as he tried to receive entry into the ancient and prestigious building of battling.

   He had thick, blonde hair and blue eyes. He painted his lips pink and wore mascara. He was rugged up in a thick hooded coat decorated with roses. He smelt of flowers and in his free hand, he held a PokeBall.

   He smiled thinly at the staff - a maid and butler - who quivered before him.

   “What? Can’t you see the family resemblance? He has my nose, don’t you think?”

   The maid giggled. “O-Of course, how can I not? It’s very striking.”

   “Now, tell me, my darling nephew but how many times have you introduced yourself to these disrespectful ignoramuses.”

   “S-Six, Uncle.” Diego replied.

   “Well, now it's seven. Let’s try again, from the top with proper etiquette.”

   “My name is Diego Brando and I am this man’s nephew.”

   “Tell me, Diego, my darling, how is my sister doing?”

   “Sh-She passed away three months ago…” Diego replied.

   “I should have collected you sooner but, she insisted she was fine. Oh, how i’ll miss how she used to call me her dear older brother, Francis “Franny” Ferdinand but she was always fond of the nickname “Franny” for me. I still don’t understand but that’s part of being an older brother, going along with the whims of the younger sibling. Now, tell me, Diego. Do you wish to become a Baron of this good establishment?”

   “Yes, Uncle Francis.”

   “Good, good, now as a Grand Duke of the Battle Chateau, I can vouch for my nephew’s prowess. He’s a prodigy, I tell you.”

   “We would be overjoyed to have such a child in our good establishment.” the butler replied.

   “Now, this is the respect my nephew and I deserve.”

   At that point, Diego did not understand why this man had taken him under his wing. Let alone, adopted him as his ward but it further their own agendas so the mutual benefit was to them both. For Diego, through the eccentric Doctor Ferdinand - his make-believe “uncle” - he was able to travel further and safer. Through him, Diego was able to attain a team most fitting for him.

   As for the geologist and paleontologist that had adopted Diego as a ward, Doctor Ferdinand’s agenda was that he wanted to be the one to ‘discover’ Diego’s talent. It was not out of charity that he adopted Diego. It was simply because the child had talent and the disrespect it was receiving from the Battle Chateau staff was utterly infuriating.

   Still, Diego was quick to prove himself as a worthwhile investment to Doctor Ferdinand. Though he could be adverse to travel, especially jet-setting between his homeland of Kalos and Doctor Ferdinand’s homeland of Unova, he had plenty of virtues to make up for such a vice.

   Diego had a cruel passion for battling and he was eager to learn about the origins of Fossil Pokemon and the like. It was something of a notable interest for him; he was able to talk about it for longer and more thoroughly than Doctor Ferdinand could at times. Better yet, he was strong. He ruled his Pokemon with an iron fist and made much reputation and coin for himself through both battling and riding. Moreover, there was only one other who could beat him and it was that Unovan prodigy with Joestar blood. Johnny or whatever he called himself.

   When the announcement of the Steel Ball Run race broke international news coverage, Diego was drawn to the glory. It was a race with enough influence that it could shake the tongues of even the royal family of Kalos. To win such a race would prove a most delightful revenge against all those bloody country fucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Am I the only one who had a preconception that Ferdinand and Diego were related?


	30. VS SCARY MONSTERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego has coffee with Johnny and Gyro. He reveals that he is in possession of the second badge and is after the Dragon Stones also.

   By the fifth day of the Third Stage, it felt like they were still no closer to Opelucid City but the map would imply otherwise.

   ‘Less than fifteen kilometres!’ Johnny excitedly announced from behind Gyro after messing about with that map of his. He pointed ahead, to a ridge. ‘See, you can see where the course bends through! Better yet, look, you can see the same pattern on my arm up there! We’re getting close! But can we make it today?’

   The Route was a gorgeous vista but in the tall shadows of the ranges, the grounds looked like they would become precarious in the darkness of night. Opelucid City seemed to blend into its surroundings. It was squarish and well contained, fronted by thick trees and a river curved through the haphazard land. The sky was gradually darkening though, no doubt twilight would be upon them soon and then, before they know it, it will be night with the sun fully set.

   Johnny and Gyro surged through the seemingly tranquil land. Johnny caught up slightly, racing by Gyro’s side. Their mounts huffed at each other, more a greeting than anything.

   ‘The sun’s about to set…’ Gyro’s voice was growly. ‘Today is too late.’

   Johnny tugged at his wrist band, to check the pattern. He glanced up towards the range once more. They were perfect mimicries of each other and it couldn’t be a coincidence. He was utterly certain. He could feel it not only in his bones but the air. Similar to how Dragonspiral Tower and the Zombie Salamence had carried strange atmospheres, the outskirts of Opelucid City seemed to exude a similar aura. Not necessarily a comfortable one, more one of power but it was magnetic.

   Gyro’s Mudsdale began to shake, not in an effort to throw Gyro but it seemed spooked. Gyro lifted himself from his saddle slightly and came in closer. He whispered into Mudsdale’s ear whilst he stroked its neck. His comfort came to little avail.

   He turned his head towards Johnny. ‘Hey, Johnny! Something’s weird, Valkyrie’s freaking out.’

   Johnny clutched at his map. Gyro threw his head over his shoulder and took a break.

   ‘It’s him! It’s Dio!’

   Johnny glanced at his shoulder. Before he knew it, a Sawsbuck with a star on its forehead was right behind him. Diego, of course, mounted confidently on its back. He grinned. On his left cheek, he a thick wad of an adhesive bandage stuck there. Something had changed about him but, it wasn’t the sort of change easily placed. That being said, his confidence was as thick as a factory smog.

   ‘He looks pretty aggressive, unlike before.’ Gyro commented. He raised his voice: ‘Don’t let your guard down, Johnny! And don’t let him pass you!’

   Diego swerved out. He was nonchalant as he distanced himself slightly from Gyro and Johnny who were bunched together.

   ‘Hey, come on now…’ Diego made conversation despite the rush of hooves and movements. ‘Don’t take it that way. I’m done for today! The sun’s starting to set… Let’s all just stick together fro here on out, no competition; just company. You know, there are all sorts of ferals out here - and I’m not just talking about any vagabonds! The wild Pokemon here are something else! Gothorita are barely tolerable tamed but wild! Goodness, no, not something I would want to encounter after dark; no manners, no respect! Their concept of friendliness is creepy!’

   Diego lifted himself slightly from his saddle. It seemed strange that he’d offer amity right now. Though, Gyro could understand where we was comin from. Back in Kalos, there were plenty of bizarre and unsettling myths regarding Gothorita or was it something else? Whatever it was, it set Gyro on edge and he knew Johnny was already on his hackles about this.

   ‘Damn, I don’t know what it is but I feel good!’ Diego announced suddenly. He had a leery grin on his face as he threw back his arms and shoulders; allowing himself to be swept slightly by the wild. ‘Everything is so refreshing! Splendid! My body feels so light! It’s too bad the sun’s setting!’

   ‘Get away from us, Diego Brando! We’re not travelling with you!’ Johnny shouted.

   Diego curved in slightly closer to Johnny and pointed at him. Though, Diego made a point to avert his eyes; a courtesy that was continued in Johnny as neither desired to stop right now. However, Diego did become serious.

   ‘Johnny Joestar, I really ought to have given you a proper hello before. It has truly been a long time… with no see. Riding like this, reminds you of when we were kids, doesn’t it? We should have a battle later, for old time’s sake. No strings or gambles attached, just… violence for violence’s sake, you know? It’s been too long since we’ve had a catch-up, don’t see you round often.’

   Diego sounded venomous. Johnny tried his best to ignore him.

   ‘I really ought to applaud you for your performance in the First and Second Stages; I’ve been told that’s a polite thing to do in conversation. Better than pointing out your injury, I suppose. What a comeback this is… the biggest race of the century and Johnny Joestar’s in it, lame legs and all.’

   Johnny turned his head back in front of him. Diego, however, did not take well to the cue that he was being ignored.

   ‘We’re still talking,  Johnny Joestar, I just decided.’ Diego called out as he began to veer away from Johnny and Gyro. ‘Hey, hey, you two are Pokemon experts but… can you do this?’

   Johnny knew better to look but he saw by the way Gyro gawked, that this was a disaster in and a half. He hesitantly turned his head. He watched as Diego tried to get up from his saddle. He was certainly reinvigorated, for some reason, which was totally unlike him but here he was, attempting to be acrobatic. If memory served Johnny correct, off of the field, Diego had been known to be a bit inattentive of his physical surroundings yet hyper-observant in other areas. He was… eccentric to say the least but this was ridiculous.

   If Johnny didn’t know any better, he’d call it self-destructive risk-taking.

   Diego attempted to heft himself onto his arms so he could stick his legs in the air, like a hand-stand. He grinned as he seemed to accomplish what he had in mind for approximately two seconds before almost toppling over. He went over th side of his Sawsbuck but grappled with its neck. He struggled greatly but was able to pull himself back up and rear back into his saddle. He was mighty lucky; one slip-up and he would’ve ended up under his Sawsbuck’s hooves.

   Gyro leaned in closer to Johnny. ‘Your friend like this usually? Or are you jockeys this wacky? ‘Cause, uh, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think you’d do something similar.’

   ‘Rack off.’ Johnny grunted.

   He hated Gyro’s comment because it wasn’t completely wrong about him. There was a slight chance that if he got his miracle then yes, he might take some risks and be irresponsible just to enjoy it but this wasn’t about him. It was about Diego’s behaviour.

   ‘...But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a theory about how in a few years time, they’ll want him for some sort of analysis of the brain.’ Johnny continued after a contemptuous pause as he mentally reviewed other instances of Diego’s bizarre eccentricities. ‘Anyways Gyro, reckon we’ll be okay? Like, I thought he was badly injured but look at him. I really don’t want all… that near me, to be honest.’

   The sky was beginning to blacken now. The trees seemed to blur into the darkening background. It was eerie and the air was beginning to cool. The sunset had been strangely missable. Already, twilight was thick upon them and the air.

   ‘Well, even if we do avoid him, we’ve got other troubles to worry about. What kinda Pokemon are native to the area, anyway? I dunno why but I get the feeling it could be dangerous.’ Gyro asked. ‘It could be risky for our mounts, we don’t want them getting attacked. We should just shack up at Opelucid City, we’re almost there after all.’

   ‘Yep, plenty of Amoonguss and Gothorita and Pawniard about. All of them are very dangerous species if you’re careless.’ Diego called out. ‘It’s safest if we all head in for the night at Opelucid City.’

   Johnny glared. Diego wasn’t wrong.

   ‘He really seems to want the company.’ Gyro commented.

   As the night began to draw in closer, soon the city limits of Opelucid City. It was a strangely symmetrical place. Buildings seem to mirror each other side of the street. They were all squarish and sandstone; completely different architecture to Driftveil City or even what had been glimpsed at Icirrus City. People, rugged up in thick coats, waved and greeted them in. Opelucid City was nowhere near the status of being Unova’s biggest city. In fact, it was more akin to a large town hence the turnout of excited spectators who wanted to oggle at the top competitors for the race. It was very flattering, to be honest.

   Gyro lapped up the attention. He waved and grinned at kids up past their bedtimes and gave special consideration to the attractive ladies greeting him as well. Johnny kept his head down and kept Diego in the corner of his eye. Diego seemed to detest attention. He skirted around it and tried to keep a fair distance between himself and the townspeople. He had a snarly expression and kept a finger plugged in his ear; a habit Johnny had seen in the races with Diego a few times, actually.

   Eventually, Johnny lost sight of Diego but he had a feeling he was close by but that’s only because Gyro distracted Johnny.  Gyro headed into an inn first and lit up an oil lantern. The room they had been given was on a ground-floor and the doorways were large enough for even a Mudsdale to fit through safely. It was bit of a shack but it was better than just the sky as their roof. It also had all sorts of facilities - kitchen, showers, latrines - which was the best bit.

   ‘Seems like even up in these secluded mountains, everyone knows about the race. It’s kind of like being a celebrity.’ Gyro said but Johnny was utterly uninterested in that sort of small talk, abruptly changing the topic of conversation.

   ‘He’s gone.’ Johnny commented sourly.

   ‘Who? Diego?’

   ‘Yeah. I don’t wanna share anythin’ with him.’ Johnny grumbled.

   ‘Dunno… Maybe he’s talking with the locals.’ Gyro suggested with a shrug.

   ‘I’m serious Gyro. I don’t want him anywhere nears us. He’s definitely the lowest sort of human being! Putting poison in our mounts’ feed or tinkering with harnesses, that sort of sabotage is second nature to him.’ Johnny insisted.

   ‘I know.’ Gyro said as he set down the lantern. ‘We’ll keep watch of our mounts, just like we do when we camp out.’

   Gyro looked around. ‘There’s a furnace in the next room over. I say it’s time for dinner… I’ll go search for some dry wood.’

   Johnny nodded and Gyro split off soon after. Johnny let Dinah Flo out of its PokeBall and his Leavanny was content to familiarise itself with the layout of the rooms. Gyro was only slightly surprised when Johnny’s Leavanny surprised him by quietly sneaking up on him when he returned. He just hoped that Gyro was expecting Leavanny, it was a qiet Pokemon and he’s been surprised by her odd meanderings of rooms before. Soon enough, he had a kettle and pot going and the room was beginning to feel warmer, homier even. With Leavanny about and the smell of coffee, the inn room was beginning to remind Johnny of his apartment back in Castelia City.

   Johnny hefted himself up next to the stoves. He left a good distance between himself and the hot-plates. He reached around and poured out coffee from the kettle. He heard the distinct footsteps of his Leavanny about but something else. Something that caught his attention and alarmed him.

   It sounded like it was coming from behind him so he twisted around again. The open window had been cooling his back and he squinted through the darkness. Closeby, there was a broken half wall, crumbly with bits of debris about. In the corner of that broken wall, there was a moving figure lit up by the lights in the room.

   That figure was Diego. At first, Johnny couldn’t work out what Diego was doing. He was crouched down and scrabbling about in the dirt. He was picking off bits of the sandstone which were weak and appeared to be stacking it with other rocks. It was hard to discern thanks to the darkness but it appeared, anyway, that Diego was playing with the rocks.

   Diego shot up, suddenly, and Johnny flinched. He didn’t even know why. Diego turned around awkwardly and made firm eye contact with Johnny through the window.

   ‘Are you making coffee, Johnny? Smells like coffee. There’s a pleasant aroma in the air.’ Diego called out.

   ‘What are you doing?’ Johnny asked.

   He wandered in closer. He crept through the door, peering in curiously but like he knew he wasn’t welcome.

   ‘Hey, don’t come inside.’ Johnny roused but Diego barged in any way.

   He put his hands on his hips and Johnny glared at him. Both equally as indignant as each other.

   ‘Earlier, you asked, “What are you doing?” - am I right to assume you were going to ask about why I was stacking those rocks?’

   Johnny didn’t reply.

   Diego continued anyway. ‘I don’t quite know myself, either. Just an impulse, I suppose you could call it, Mr. Joestar. I couldn’t stand how untidy it looked and doesn’t everything look better orderly and I like to think stacking is the best order: largest and strongest and the bottom, smallest and weakest at the top. The ascending order is also fun to run my fingers along, to feel the differences in size. After doing all that stacking, I feel both splendid and parched.’

   Diego leaned against the door and licked his lips. Johnny’s Leavanny wandered in a tad closer to Diego and turned its head up at him. He ignored its curiosity towards him.

   ‘You’re making coffee, aren’t you? May I have a cup? What type is it? I have a strong sense of smell, you know. If I had to guess, I would say that is Blue Mountain blend number two.’

   Johnny changed the topic of conversation. ‘Aren’t you still hurt? I mean, that’s a big bandage you’ve got on your face, there. It looked terrible when Gyro and I had checked up on you a couple days back now.’

   ‘I told you, I’m doing great.’ Diego replied, testy.

   Diego held his hands in front of him like his fingers were clamped down over a rod in front of him and yet, the backs of his hands were quite close to his chest. He was still wearing his gloves too.

   ‘Are your hands still sprained or something falling off your Sawsbuck the other day Why aren’t you taking your gloves off?’ Johnny asked, his innate sense of alarm was going off but even this felt ridiculous of an accusation.

   ‘It’s October, the nights are pretty chilly. I’ll take them off when I wash my hands.’ Diego replied. He smiled. ‘Come on, let me have a cup of coffee.’

   ‘I don’t want to travel with you. I just want to make that clear, first up since I know you can be extremely thick-headed. Ugh, whatever. Just one cup. It’s right in front of you.’ Johnny relented, a touch bitter. ‘But once you finish, you find somewhere else to shack up.’

   ‘Thank you, Johnny, now was that so hard?’

   Diego sounded nonchalant but his movements were stiff. He refused to release his hands from close to his chest so he awkwardly grappled at the cans before realising there was a nearby mug. Johnny watched in secondhand embarrassment.

   ‘Sorry, a bit tired, I suppose.’ Diego said as he took a whiff of his coffee’s aroma. ‘It truly does smell delicious.’

   Diego took a sip, only to despise the coffee for an unobvious reason. He had been praising it a moment ago and now, he seemed utterly displeased with it. Diego’s nose wrinkled. He set it down and his mouth curved downwards.

   ‘A little too hot. I hear in the Orient, they say the inability to stand hot foods is called having a Meowth’s tongue.’ Diego quipped. ‘Here in Unova, would it be more like having a Purloin’s tongue? What about in Kalos, would it be having an Espurr’s tongue? Isn’t that strange?’

   ‘Not as strange as you.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Now, there was something I desired to discuss with you. It is of a most urgent and pressing matter.’ Diego replied, his tone of voice had changed completely.

   Johnny glared. ‘Alright, so long as it’s unrelated to the idea of bein’ buddy-buddy. I’ve already got Gyro and hell, myself, I don’t need to be around any more assholes.’

   ‘No, this is a matter pertaining to the Third Stage of the race… and the second Badge.’

   ‘The second badge?!’ Johnny exclaimed.

   Diego grinned. His teeth seemed strangely sharp. It was unnatural and it worried Johnny slightly but Diego had his attention so he could ignore Diego’s eccentricities; just this once anyway.

   There was a pause and before either of them could speak, Gyro had shrieked. He’d been walking through the doorway with a load of sticks bundled in his arms but now they were clattering on the floor. Johnny’s Leavanny was at Gyro’s feet, staring up at him with big curious eyes. The height difference between them was amusing.

   ‘Shit Johnny. Didn’t seen Dinah down there.’ Gyro said.

   ‘It’s ‘kay, oi, Dinah, help Gyro pick up those sticks for me.’

   ‘Lea-vanny.’ his Leavanny trilled.

   ‘Now, back to what we were discussing before.’ Johnny said pointedly to Diego.

   ‘Where were we? I lost my train of thought.’ Diego piped up.

   ‘Huh? Why’s he here?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘He wants to discuss something about the Third Stage with me - us? - and it’s to do with the second Badge.’  

   ‘Ah, yes, the second Badge.’ Diego continued and there was a strange, sardonic innocence in his eyes lit up with enthusiasm. He lifted his arm, he twisted around his hand to show Johnny and Gyro the back of it. Then, through some sort of sleight of hand, he had produced a small, metallic object now pressed between two of his fingers. ‘This is it. The second Badge: the Fossil Badge.’

   ‘What the…? Is he for real, Johnny? Are you serious?’ Gyro exclaimed.

   ‘I can assure you, I am very serious.’ Diego said. ‘If you don’t believe me, check the SBR Handbook and on the second last page, descriptions of the badges can be found and this is no forgery. I earned this Badge in a very hard fight.’

   ‘Then why wasn’t there an announcement?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘There’s no rule against keeping it secret. Not all of us are as easily excited as you, Johnny. Some of us prefer to keep quiet about our good fortune.’ Diego explained.

   Johnny scowled. It was true, he had been awfully quick to send a message to Maria about his winning of the Feather Badge but it was more out of courtesy than anything else. It was better for the other Trainers to know Valentine’s chosen Trainer was knocked out and the Badge passed onto a rival than for them to squander time in search of a decommissioned Trainer.

   ‘I believe you.’ Johnny said.

   ‘Keeping that knowledge secret was but one part of someone else’s plans. I do not have the full details but I have reason to believe you already know. I won this Badge so that he didn’t have to get his hands dirty dealing with you two. Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli: I challenge you to a Pokemon battle. This Badge and two Dragon Stones will be our spoils for the victor. Understand?’

   ‘You know about the Dragon Stones?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘Not exactly. I know you are in possession of one and I know there is one to be found somewhere close to Opelucid City.’ Diego replied. ‘I’m just the middleman.’

   ‘Alright, we accept your challenge.’ Gyro said.

   ‘Good. Now, I suggest you run because I intend to hunt.’ Diego said.

   ‘We’re just your Grumpig for truffle sniffin’, aren’t we?’ Gyro snorted.

   ‘I don’t know what that means but I presume yes.’ Diego replied.

   Diego made eye contact with both Gyro and Johnny.

   ‘As per the rules, our eyes have met so a battle must begin. Immediately.’ Diego said.

   Diego was the first to call forth one of his Pokemon and it was a great creature the likes of which neither Johnny or Gyro had seen, only heard of.

   ‘Scary Monsters, I choose you.’ Diego yelled as he threw a Heavy Ball forward.

   From a crash of glittering sparkles and a scarlet flash, a large Pokemon manifested; it would have been slightly taller than Mudsdale. It was a majestic looking creature with shining blue scales and spines resembling regal attire. It opened its mighty maw and gave a great roar that shook the very foundations of the room.

   ‘What the fuck is that?!’ Johnny yelped.

   ‘A fossil! It’s a fucking fossil! I thought those were myths!’ Gyro shouted back.

   ‘Scary Monsters, use Draco Meteor!’ Diego instructed.

   His Scary Monsters - his whatever it was - opened its jagged fang-lined maw once more. The roar it let loose was deafening. Once more, it caused damage to the foundations but what it was summoning, was far worse.

   Purple rocks engulfed by red flames manifested from thin air, seemingly coming through the ceiling.

   ‘Argh, fuck, Jailbreak use Protect!’ Gyro said.

   There was barely any room now with the furniture, Scary Monsters, Leavanny, and everyone inside the room and Gyro had let out another gigantic Pokemon - and in the nick of time too.

   Jailbreak roared and summon protective barriers around Gyro, Johnny, and even Leavanny. The meteors pelted down around them but turned to dust upon contact.

   Diego ground his teeth.

   ‘Dinah Flo, use Leaf Blade!’ Johnny panicked.

   ‘Vanny!’ his Leavanny cried out.

   ‘You call it a Fossil… Fossils are rocks, right?’ Johnny said to Gyro.

   ‘Yeah but this one gives me some bad vibes.’ Gyro replied, terse. ‘We need to get out of here quick smart.’

   Leavanny’s arms began to a glow a vibrant, almost neon green. It surged forward and repeatedly struck Scary Monsters’ knee with a slash. It huffed at Leavanny and it retreated upon realising that its attack been ineffectual.

   Diego threw back his shoulders and laughed. ‘Scary Monsters is resistant to grass type attacks, you fools. Someone as regal as me deserves such a Pokemon, wouldn’t you agree? Scary Monsters is a Tyrantrum: King of all the Fossil Pokemon! An ancient Pokemon that ruled the lands beneath its regal claws! A perfect fit for someone like me, wouldn’t you say? It’s a Rock-Dragon type. And his next attack won’t fail.’

   Diego pointed to Gyro and Johnny. ‘Obliterate these fools, use Earthquake!’

   Another harrowing cry followed Diego’s command. The floor beneath them began to tremble. It shook and bounced; cracking in two and the walls followed. The inn began to fall in on itself. Panicked, Gyro grabbed Johnny by the scruff off his neck and threw them both through the windows; not giving a second thought to either of their Pokemon. At least not until they had reached safety, anyway.

   The two landed outside where the ground wasn’t shaking. They were a jumbled mess and turned back.

   ‘Dinah! Dinah Flo!’ Johnny yelled at the top of his lungs. His heart trembled in his chest as he strained his ears.

   ‘Protect won’t work a second time around…’ Gyro lamented. ‘Jailbreak, get out of there an’ take Dinah with ya!’

   Diego’s Tyrantrum butted through the debris. What was left of the inn cascaded in broken bits into a pile. Gyro’s Aggron moaned but ultimately pulled through. Debris slid down its back. Distantly, they could hear Dinah Flo’s cries but they were faint and weak.

   ‘Return, Dinah Flo!’ Johnny yelped as he thrust out his hand with his fingers clamped tightly around Leavanny’s PokeBall.

   A thin streak of silver was exerted and found its mark. His Leavanny was soon transported back to safety but was likely in bad shape. Johnny frowned. He swapped out PokeBalls but at least now he knew what he was up against. Scary Monsters the Tyrantrum was a Rock-Dragon type and he had just the Pokemon for the job.

   ‘How’s Jailbreak holding up?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘Another attack like that and she’s a goner; even if I can deflect it using Protect, the turn after will be a graveyard shift.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘Angel’s a Fairy type but there’s no way she can stand up to that all by herself. Diego’s trained his ‘mons as close to their cap as he can get, quite clearly.’ Johnny replied.

   ‘Yeah, even if I can get Problem Child in there safely, the same sort of deal for us. And who knows? Water mightn’t be as effective as we’d like, just like with that Leaf Blade from Dinah.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘You know… Two on one isn’t very fair, even if Scary Monsters is one of the most powerful Pokemon known to science.’ Diego’s voice piped up from out of nowhere.

   He removed himself from the rubble and sauntered towards them. His Tyrantrum must have protected him during the destruction of the inn.

   ‘Art Decade, I choose you.’ Diego said and he tossed another Heavy Ball into the fray.

   From a scarlet flash, another bizarre Pokemon lumbered forward. It brandished large pincers and had dull grey and blue colouring. It watched with nearly detached eyes. It was creepy.

   ‘And the hell is that?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘It’s another Fossil, but fuck if I know where it comes from. Tyrantrum’re from Kalos, I know that but this thing? No clue, not Unova I’m gonna guess.’

   ‘Quite right, Gyro. You truly do possess approximate knowledge of many things. I can see why Johnny finds you so fascinating. You would be correct in assuming my Art Decade is not native to neither Kalos or Unova. This is called an “Armaldo” and it hails from Hoenn.’

   ‘That’s just great.’ Gyro grumbled. ‘We’ve got too much happening at once.’

   ‘Art Decade, attack that Aggron with Brine!’ Diego shouted.

   ‘Shit, use Prote-!’

   Gyro’s command for his Aggron had come a touch too late. So, now, the situation was continuing to worsen. Diego’s Armaldo threw its pincers forward and crooned: a hideous sound. From its open mouth, spilt forth a wave of oceanic water. The water was a wet slap against Aggron’s hide. Gyro’s Aggron’s shoulders arched and it let loose an exhausted roar. There was no point battling any further with Jailbreak so Gyro recalled his Aggron in a quick flash.

  He glanced around. If he had to get himself and Johnny out of this situation. Once more, the stars in the sky - the Big Dipper - caught his eye. He continued to furtively search and he grinned. The drainage pipes would offer some protection. A plan began to revolve through his mind.

   ‘Don’t call out Angel jus’ yet, we’re rearranging our priorities first. Diego’s just toying with us because he needs us to find the next Dragon Stone for him so we’re gonna go and get it first.’

   ‘Yes, as much as it pains me because it goes against the “rules”, I’ll allow this battle to be put on hold just so I can hunt you down.’ Diego interjected.

   ‘Because I’ve cracked the code, Johnny, those marks on your arm. You were onto something when you said that it’s too bizarre of a coincidence that the ridges behind Opelucid look similar to those scars.’ Gyro pointed to the constellation that hovered in the curves of the highest point of the ridges: the Big Dipper. ‘I’ll bet you any money, where that we’ll find the next Dragon Stone right there.’

   ‘And how’re we gonna get there?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘Do you trust me?’ Gyro asked; his voice falling to a low whisper.

   ‘...Yes.’ Johnny replied, matching the tone of voice but he was concerned now since Gyro felt compelled to ask that.

   ‘Good ‘cause you’re not gonna like my plan.’

   ‘Shit.’


	31. VS TRAINER DOCTOR FERDINAND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double battle begins between two teams: Johnny and Gyro versus Diego and his eccentric benefactor, Doctor Ferdinand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a meta-joke in this chapter and I'm never going to top it.

   Diego and his monstrous Pokemon - the Tyrantrum and the Armaldo - approached. Johnny was a little bit scared but he was willing to listen to Gyro’s plan. Whatever hell that was going to be. Gyro began to explain very calmly even though he seemed to be threatened as well.

   ‘Here’s what we’re gonna do, you’re gonna use the Spin and you’re gonna flatten yourself. Then, we crawl through the drainage pipes where Diego and his mongrel ‘mons can’t get us. And then, we’ll get it, if you’re up to it.’

   ‘Wh-What? How?’ Johnny said.

   ‘Here, I’ll start you off.’

   Gyro pushed on Johnny’s chest. His back began to sink between the bars of the drain pipes. His body squished in on itself and became as malleable as heated rubber. Johnny’s limbs soon tangled around the bars as he sank back. He looked a little stunned.

  ‘I’m glad you're somewhat taking this hunting game seriously.’ Diego said nonchalantly threatening as he and his Pokemon sauntered closer. He had produced more PokeBalls.

   ‘Go, go, Johnny, c’mon, hurry up!’ Gyro encouraged Johnny. ‘Go in deeper, already.’

   ‘Sic ‘em, Scary Monsters.’ Diego shouted.

   Deciding there was no time, Gyro whipped around and shoved himself and Johnny through the bars. It was an awkward collision but Johnny was fine. He crawled ahead. Gyro, meanwhile, by the time his legs had reeled back, he was just safe from the claws belonging to Tyrantrum but this was barely the time to breathe.

   Diego strutted up to the bars and tested them for himself. He growled out of frustration.

   ‘I don’t know how you two did that but you’re putting on a good show. But don’t you worry, I’ll hunt you down.’ sneered Diego.

   Johnny crawled ahead. Gyro looked back and chose not to make a quip. It was better to save his breath for something else as it stank in here. It was small and cramped and with both men in here, the tight space worsened. At least it was a relatively short distance until the other open end where light spilled in and they could also be thankful for the lull in danger.

   They were halfway down the pipe when Gyro began to inform Johnny of the next phase of his plan. Though, he did look over his shoulder just to make sure that Diego hadn’t sent anything after them.

   ‘That ridge where the Big Dipper looks like it's sitting, I bet the next Dragon Stone is somewhere in the dent of the ridge’s peak. From the looks of it, it’s probably a two hundred to three hundred metre climb. After we get the Stone, we’re getting the fuck out. We’re gonna avoid Diego at all costs. If worst comes to worst, if we have to battle him then we’re sending in Angel and Problem Child. If things manage to get worse after that, well, let’s pray it don’t because we can’t afford to lose the Dragon Stone in your left hand.’ Gyro said.

   Johnny paused and turned around to speak to Gyro directly.

   ‘Right! We’ll get the Dragon Stone from the mountain, ignore the Badge, and get out. Got it. But what about the mounts? Valkyrie and Slow Dancer?’ Johnny asked. ‘What if Dio does something to them?’

   ‘Dio’s goal is your left arm. Everything else is peripheral to him. I doubt the thought’s crossed his mind. Besides, he seems to treat his Pokemon pretty well, I think Val and Dancer’ll be fine. A jockey like him, won’t kill a mount anyway.’ Gyro replied. ‘In the morning, we’ll have Skies The Limit guide Valkyrie and Slow Dancer back to us. Our mounts’re smart but let’s use all the advantages we’ve got.’

   Gyro and Johnny crawled along a little further. Then, they heard something. Screeches and scratching: epic roars that could tear the world asunder. They cautiously drew in closer to their exit. Johnny held on tightly to the cement as he looked around. Gyro piled up on top of him so he could get his own look too. Johnny could hear Gyro breath even beneath the ordinance that Diego’s Pokemon were causing.

   ‘Gyro, were being closed in.’ Johnny said.

   A Flygon and an Altaria flitted and flapped about with graceful beats of their wings. A Salamence and Noivern circled; flying in concentric circles juxtaposed to one another. A Hydreigon hiss and spat, zipping up and down. An unidentified Pokemon zoomed about in the sky, was another unidentified Pokemon. It was spiky and intimidating looking. Opposite it, a fluffy and scaly flapped its wings about towards the bottom of the sheer cliff. Both, strange Pokemon were likely revived Fossils. Then, at the very bottom of the cliff, Diego and his land-based Pokemon - a whole horde of vicious Fossil and Pseudo-Legendary Pokemon - waited for them.

   ‘There’s no way we can both get across the canyon and get to the hill.’ Johnny told Gyro.

   The more Johnny hesitated, the more time he gave to Diego.

   ‘Shit, we’re really surrounded, aren’t we?’ Gyro commented in disbelief. ‘Okay, don’t panic.’

   Through the menacing horde of Pokemon, in the inky distance, the Big Dipper shone like a beacon of hope. It illuminated the ridge. It was so close yet so far.

   ‘Johnny, I know this is a lot to ask of Skies but is she strong enough to carry us both?’

   ‘Not a snowball’s chance in Hell, Gyro, even if she could. She’d get attacked by all those aerial Pokemon of Dio’s.’

   ‘We've got three minutes, Johnny. We’ve gotta get over there before we’re Pokemon chow.’

   Diego’s Pokemon continued to close in on them. Those that could cling to the sides of the cliff, did. Those that could not, continued to wait, menacing. However, as the Pokemon wait for the right opportunity to pry Gyro and Johnny out of the hole, an opportunity of escape formed.

   ‘Johnny, we’re going, now!’

   ‘O-Okay!’

   Gyro grabbed Johnny’s hand and both men made the great leap of faith. It seemed like the worse thing to do but they jumped regardless. Air rushed around them. It was something of a fake-out which gave them extra time. Most of Diego’s flying Pokemon were bulkily large so that gave them some disadvantage as they had to turn around and lunge at them.

   As for the Pokemon with Diego beneath them, it felt like Gyro hadn’t had thought that far ahead but Johnny wanted to trust Gyro. Gyro always seemed to have a good idea. Hopefully, now would be one of those times.

   And that hope in his friend was rewarded when Gyro let go of Johnny’s hand and they began to collide. It seemed utterly impossible to make the jump. Johnny screamed but Gyro ignored him. He unclipped one of his PokeBalls.

   ‘Go, go, Poor Tom!’

   Gyro lobbed a PokeBall at a dying tree. The PokeBall smashed into it and the Spin energy was sent through the tree as it unfurled like a coil of string. It turned to rope and Big Jack was quick to find a foothold. It kept the tree sturdy and safe. The tree whipped around and Gyro grabbed onto it. Johnny hugged Gyro’s legs. Poor Tom began to heft them both up as they could. Gyro grinned. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. He craned his head around.

   Diego and his ground Pokemon couldn’t reach them. The flying Pokemon were still a concern but Diego was recalling them. It was all part of the hunting game, Johnny supposed. Less work for Diego if it was Johnny and Gyro retrieving the Dragon Stone rather than him.

   Gyro and Johnny made it to safe ground. The ridge was a cold and a little bit snowy. There was a strange atmosphere in the air here. It was oddly hallowed. It seemed like a strange energy radiated from beneath the frozen ground.

   Gyro looked out towards the constellation they had been chasing. The brightest star was perfectly encapsulated within the curl of one of the ridges. He smiled to himself.

   ‘This remind you of anything, Johnny?’

   ‘Yeah.’ Johnny replied. He was breathless. ‘It’s like it was with Dragonspiral Tower and the Zombie Salamence. This is probably holy ground.’

   ‘Think it’s safe to assume alright that there’ll be a Dragon Stone ‘round here somewhere.’ Gyro looked around. ‘Diego’s gonna be here soon. It’ll depend on how willing to break mount rules he is and I’m gonna guess his orders outrank the SBR handbook.’

   ‘Yeah. But what’re we looking for? I still don’t even understand how I wound up with my Dragon Stone anyway…’ Johnny replied.

   ‘We’re so close Johnny.’ Gyro said. He absent-mindedly petted the top of Poor Tom’s head.

   He seemed to be in awe of the area. From hee, all of the heavens could be seen with gorgeous clarity. The night was strangely serene here. The area was empty except for them. It was alluring and it stirred something in the deepest parts of Gyro’s soul. He couldn’t help but breathe deeply here even though that was likely ill-advised given their current height above sea level.

   Gyro and Johnny began a trek towards the summit but before they knew it, Diego had joined them. He swooped in on the back of his Salamence then return it to its PokeBall. He sneered victoriously.

   ‘Johnny!’ Gyro called out. ‘You go on ahead, I’ll handle Diego. C’mon Poor Tom, let’s battle.’

   Johnny’s eyes widened. He watched as a peculiar altar seemed to manifest from the outcrop of rocks behind Gyro. It rose out of the ground and looked like a pillar. It was intricately carved and was crumbly, like a sand castle, and hollow. There was a bestial flair to shape as it was quadruped and possessed some sort of maw but its origin as a creature - present or mythical - could not be placed. Sitting upon two indents not unlike the indents of eyes in a skull, were two rocks.

   ‘Gy-Gyro, behind you!’ Johnny called out. ‘What is that? Is that a statue or a...? A Fossil?’

   Gyro turned around slowly. He felt himself become absorbed by a presence larger and more divine than anything else he’d ever felt; even in some of the most gorgeous and prestigious chapels and cathedrals he had visited in his journey around Kalos. He could understand why Johnny was so speechless before it. So was he.

   ‘In its eyes… It’s eyes are Dagon Stones, two of them!’ Johnny pointed out.

   It appeared to be a true statement. The creature-like altar was of a very different composition to its seeming eyes. However, even the eyes were of different colouring to each other. One was closer to a coal-like grey whereas the other was closer to the colour of cement.  They remained similar in texture and roundness, though. To Johnny’s knowledge, they even seemed similar to the Dragon Stone embedded in his left hand.

   ‘Excellent, now, I shall be taking them.’ Diego’s voice boomed across the distance that separated them. He sounded more than eager to claim the Dragon Stones as his own.

   Diego had his Noivern by his side. He raised his hand and it collected him in a swift swoop. It latched onto his hand and he was transported through the razor cut of a seemingly sonic boom. Johnny, Gyro, and his Diggersby flinched; protectively raised their arms above them to protect themselves from Noivern.

   Noivern flew past the statue and Diego swiped the eyes from the bestial altar. He cackled as he was raised higher by his Noivern. He played with them in his palm, he half smiled as he looked over them. They were not unlike a pair of Eggs. Both had a sole word inscribed around the raised inner stripe.

   ‘Turbo?’ Diego read aloud.

   The altar began to crumble. It turned to sand but there was a strange echo resounding through the chilly, night air.

   Turbo, turbo, turbo…

   Over and over. It was whispered through the night almost reverently. What could it possibly mean?

   Johnny checked his arm. He couldn’t help but draw parallel to now and when he had received the Dragon Stone alongside his Pawniard’s Egg. He watched as the marks on his arm fade.

   ‘It’s a clue.’ he realised. ‘The hint on my arm is fading because that’s the next hint to the next location of a Dragon Stone.’

   A brilliant golden light was exuded from the stones. It seemed to sear into Diego’s hand and revealed the hallowed word of “Turbo” upon his dry skin. Diego watched in painless curiosity. However, because he was so engrossed by the mystery of the Dragon Stones, he was open to being attacked.

   Johnny quietly unclipped a PokeBall from his waist. He clicked on it and in a flash of silver, his Clefairy appeared.

   ‘C’mon, Angel, attack that Noivern with Moonblast.’ Johnny instructed his Clefairy.  

   Gyro shot him an approving look. It was a silent exchange of ideas. He indicated his Diggersby and it puffed up slightly, as though to look intimidating despite its tubby and almost cute build.

   Clefairy opened its mouth slightly and a gorgeous and near celestial energy began to gather. It whipped and curled around, a bright light of pink until it took on a shape that resembled an orb. Outside energy seemed to be sucked in and turned dazzling: an effervescent, sky blue before it was all shot outwards in a vicious beam.

   Clefairy’s attack was quickly followed up by a command by Gyro.

   ‘Poor Tom, use Hyper Beam!’

   That caught Diego’s attention. His head whipped around. He looked enraged that he had been brought back from his attention absorbed trance. His Noivern took the first attack and Diggersby’s Hyper Beam was quickly followed. Hyper Beam struck like a force to be reckoned with. As a blast, it was like a concentrated inferno pushing through a pipe.

   Noivern took both attacks head on and promptly fainted. It screeched as it loosely flapped its wings. Diego had no choice but to return it to its PokeBall. He wordlessly snarled at Johnny and Diego but then, a new and unfamiliar voice parted the increasingly antagonistic atmosphere.

   ‘Johnny Joestar!’

   There was a confused paused, perhaps for half a second, before the androgynous voice continued to yell. Though, now there were also unique footsteps accompanying the accusatory yelling. The footsteps were heavy thuds capable of disturbing the ground beneath them.

   ‘You there: Johnny Joestar! I am talking to you!’

   Heads turned to face the voice. It appeared to be sourced from behind them. Even Diego was terse because of the voice.

   ‘You are bullying my darling nephew!’

   ‘Nephew?’ Gyro exclaimed to Johnny. He made a screwed-up face but even Johnny didn’t have a rumour about Diego as an explanation for this one.

   Soon, the voice belonged to a body. Or at least a pair of legs that peeked out from behind the shield-like face of a quadruped Pokemon. Riding side-saddle on the back of a bizarre, unidentified Pokemon, a person soon made himself known.

   ‘It’s him…’ Diego lamented, his voice twisted but in an embarrassed manner.

   He strode towards Diego and there was a possible family resemblance between them. The man calling Diego his “nephew” was of thick blonde hair and blue eyes; though his eyelashes were far more prominent. They were of similar builds but he was slightly taller than Diego. It could be argued that they had similar noses too. He wore an extravagant coat decorated with scarlet roses. He bore a bitter smile across his pink, plump lips as he continued to cross towards them.

   ‘The utter disrespect towards your fellow man. I have heard horrible things about you, young man - and not just from my darling nephew.’ he tutted. ‘Tell me, are you the type to leave rubbish lying about too? What about spitting? I feel as though you have that sort of streak in you. Do you believe you are greater than this gracious Earth?’

   Johnny didn’t know what to say in reply to that so instead, he sputtered out: ‘Wh-Who are you?’

   ‘You’ve done well, Diego Brando. I was right to adopt you as my ward all those years ago, you have proven most fantastic thus far.’

   The smile upturned; perhaps became genuine. He coaxed Diego closer to him. He obeyed reluctantly. He then hugged Diego with a large and forceful embrace; one Diego appeared to suffer through. Was this all too prove some sort of genuine familiarity between them because that was more like affection between strangers?

   ‘Diego’s… adopted?’ Gyro asked but Johnny was just as bewildered as him.

   ‘Allow me to introduce myself because only the scum of the Earth forgets their manners. My name is Ferdinand but I prefer to be called Doctor. I am a geologist and biologist of ancient Pokemon. I specialise in reviving Fossils then breeding the resulting Pokemon in an effort to understand how Pokemon have come to the forms we know now. I am Diego’s benefactor and have been since he was a street urchin in Kalos. Isn’t that right, my darling?’

   ‘Yes, Uncle Ferdinand.’ Diego replied. ‘I am grateful every day for your charity.’

   ‘Isn’t he a little charmer? He gets that from me.’ Doctor Ferdinand cooed to Diego’s obvious discomfort.

   Doctor Ferdinand strayed from Diego’s side and turned over his hand at him. ‘I am the rightful owner of these two Dragon Stones.’ he declared.

   Diego handed them over without protest.

   ‘I was the one who wounded Diego the other day. I hear you two took much interest in that. I was an accident, I swear. The battle simply became… out of hand. What? As a Trainer chosen by President Valentine, I couldn’t let the matters of a family come into such a battle. That would be disrespectful to the morals of a duel, not to mention the rules outlined in those handbooks. But, Diego rightfully earned his Badge once I made him thoroughly work for it.

   ‘Then, I enlisted him as my… delivery boy, I suppose you could say. I’m also under orders from Team Pax Unova.’

   Johnny and Gyro’s ears pricked. Another connection between President Valentine to Team Unova through one of his chosen Trainers. It was becoming all the more likely now that there really was a conspiracy regarding the true nature of the Steel Ball Run race and the collection of Dragon Stones.

   ‘I’m a senior operative but I have no interest in the political motives Team Pax Unova possesses, I’m more interested in the idea of resurrecting the ancient dragons and deciphering their role in the history of Pokemon. According to legend, the Dragon Stones when collected will resurrect them but modern science might imply otherwise.

   ‘Through the power of technology, I have turned Fossils into living, breathing creatures once more! Just look at my darling Roxy the Bastiodon here… And I haven’t a doubt in my mind that the Dragon Stones are any different. Legends say there are two but that makes no sense. The hardy survive, take the widespread infestations of Rattata, for instance, and something as powerful as Zekrom and Reshiram must exist in herds. The Dragon Stones, they surely must complete an individual dragon themselves. Wouldn’t it be a grand sight? Dozens, no hundreds, perhaps thousands of the ancient dragons at our disposal! Now, Johnny Joestar, surrender your Dragon Stone to me!’

   ‘My goodness!’ Gyro gasped. ‘He’s gone mad with power!’

   Doctor Ferdinand most certainly carried himself of a crazed composure. He threw back his arms and began to cackle after his elegantly versed lecture. His laugh was a high pitched, irritating noise. He sounded downright villainous.  Bt that wasn’t what irked Johnny. It wasn’t even that he had insinuated Johnny to be the scum of the Earth or his lectures on manners. It was something far more irrelevant - even to Johnny but he couldn’t help himself as his fits grew tense.

   ‘You’re wrong!’ he yelled.

   ‘Excuse me?’ Doctor Ferdinand said, cold as ice.

   Johnny swallowed. ‘I said you're wrong.’

   ‘About what? My facts are indisputable, peon.’

    I can’t believe I’m doing this, Johnny thought to himself as he dared to correct Doctor Ferdinand. ‘What do you believe in?’ Johnny asked. He sounded almost childlike as he sputtered out his words. ‘What are your religious or spiritual views?’

   ‘I have none. There is no use in it, after all. Our lives are but coincidences. The world happened to start with a Big Bang and that is how it shall end. There will be no rapture,

just a self-induced heat-death of the Sun.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps that is how the physicality of the world manifested but, but there are things science can’t explain. Miracles, fate, gods, and that includes the ancient

dragons Reshiram and Zekrom. They do not exist as many. They exist as individuals. One. And two. They were birthed from a sole creature and they will not reproduce because they are gods, incompatible with any species - even Ditto. They will not exist in dozens or hundreds or even thousands. You. Are. Wrong.’ Johnny argued.

   ‘You have old stories and myths to support yourself. I have conclusive evidence that can be tested and tested again, reproducing the exact same results. You’re views are worthless. As are your words. You’ve wasted your breath.’ Doctor Ferdinand rolled the Stones around in his palm. ‘It is apparent even to the naked eye that the physical composition is similar - possibly the same substance - as the inorganic casing the fossilised flesh of ancient Pokemon possess when in the stasis of Fossils. If I had a Fossil on hand, been a dolt like you could see. If I had both a Fossil and scientific equipment, I could prove to you that your so-called religious views are but fairy tales.’

   Johnny furrowed his brow. He felt like a fool; like he had wasted his breath. He shouldn’t have piped up at all. He wasn’t exactly the biggest believer but he just had to champion this cause. It was an urge larger than him; one he didn’t fully understand and mde the inner of his life hand burn. Maybe that’s why. Perhaps some sort of magical energy was inside of him and that was why he had spoken up despite being wholly unqualified for such a debate.

    ‘The Dragon Stone is wasted in your possession. Hand it over now.’ Doctor Ferdinand demanded.

   ‘You’re not a scientist, you’re a terrorist. Like hell, I’ll hand it over to you.’ Johnny spat.

   He hadn’t realised but he was a little bit injured. He shouldn’t be surprised with all that had happened but he didn’t think it would be enough to taint his mouth with the taste of blood and colour his saliva pale red too.

   ‘Wait one moment, what did you just do?’ Doctor Ferdinand abruptly stopped his train of thought. His priorities shifted, skewed. ‘Hm, as I suspected. You truly are of no manners. You just spat on the ground, didn’t you? Respect the Earth, you fool! The world is full of people like you. Do you know why ancient Pokemon went extinct at the peak of their prosperity?’

   ‘No…?’ Johnny glanced at Gyro in the vague hope that Gyor might have a clue but he shrugged.

   ‘It is because humans hadn’t taught them respect. They were all idiots without order. They didn’t respect the Earth; that’s why they perished. I m talking of great scientific significance here. Pokemon flourish today because humans taught them order. Without humans, the prehistoric Pokemon were in utter anarchy and as such, they perished even in their peak of prosperity. Take our modern society, anyone who disrespects the Earth as we know it becomes penalised. Their idiotic brains didn’t understand the relationship between truth, ideals, and justice.’

   Doctor Ferdinand looked up from the Dragon Stones he held in his hand. He assessed Johnny as he crawled a little closer.

   ‘Tell me, what is your motive for finding the Dragon Stones? Do you truly believe in miracles; are you collecting them in the feeble hope that they magically cure your lame legs? Do you believe that these dumb rocks without any sentience are in possession of the divinity you seek?’

   ‘He’s baiting you, Johnny.’ Gyro warned.

   ‘We’re having a conversation, it is rude to interrupt! I’m glad I taught my Diego proper; your guardians appear to have failed you in your upbringings.’ Doctor Ferdinand shot a proud glance at Diego.

   He had been standing still for a very long time. By his sides, his hands twitched, fidgeted.

   ‘But, continuing on, there is the chance that I have misunderstood your priorities. Perhaps you are like us: seeking power and invincibility. I’ve assumed that your purpose is inferior to mine and that of Team Pax Unova’s. Because we seek the Dragon Stones for grand purpose. Respect is prosperity. The one who collects the Dragon Stones shall be the one to receive unimaginable power and the ability to reshape the world according either ideals or truths but what is there when there is neither?’

   The question appeared rhetorical but Johnny, Gyro, and even Diego each had their own answer.

   Anarchy, lies, and despair had been their answers. And none of them were correct, at least according to Doctor Ferdinand.

   ‘Justice.’ Doctor Ferdinand informed them.

  ‘That seems real splendid.’ Johnny said. There a slight snarl to his voice as he was unimpressed with Doctor Ferdinand’s speeches. ‘But you’re even more misguided than me because at least I listen to those fairy tales as you called them. There ain’t no justice in a world without truth or ideal. The ancient dragons wouldn’t grant that sort of power to fucked-up people like you.’

   Gyro whistled, impressed. Even Diego seemed to lighten up a bit. Perhaps he too had been slightly awed by what Johnny had had the gall to say Doctor Ferdinand.

   And, as for Doctor Ferdinand, he appeared to have snapped. His brow twinged and his cheeks turned flushed. He became enraged by Johnny’s cheek.

   ‘I have had it with your ill manners, young man! A double battle, now, as per the rules: our eyes have met; you and Gyro versus myself and Diego. Winner takes all the Dragon Stones!’ Doctor Ferdinand shrieked.

   Johnny shot a confident glance towards Gyro who nodded back. Both trusted that the other was cooking up a dirty plan.

   ‘We accept.’ Johnny replied.

   There was a pause - like a calm before a horrid storm - and then four Pokemon were sent forward to battle.

   ‘Angel!’

   ‘I choose you, Scary Monsters!’

   ‘Lady Dior!’

   ‘Go, go, Poor Tom!’

   Clefairy and Diggersby took the field with vigour at their Trainers’ command. Diego and Doctor Ferdinand lobbed PokeBalls - the same, blue and grey brand - high into the air. From great, silvery flashes a pair of Tyrantrum stomped forward. Diego’s Tyrantrum came down in a crash of sparkles whilst Doctor Ferdinand’s was of a different colour variant.

   Doctor Ferdinand laughed both proudly and obnoxiously.

   ‘Are you imbeciles aware of what is called an “oddly coloured” Pokemon?’ he asked.

   Johnny huffed. ‘A little bit, yeah.’ He thought of Tusk.

   ‘Well, according to my research, an oddly coloured Pokemon will be born in about one in one thousand and sixty-four Eggs when breeding captivity. In the wild, the chance of an oddly coloured offspring is even unlikelier!’ Doctor Ferdinand informed Johnny and Gyro boastfully. ‘And my darling Diego was able to hatch an odd coloured Tyrunt when he was but a runt himself.’

   ‘Yes, I’m very proud of Scary Monsters.’ Diego said but he sounded devoid of any pride. He seemed utterly drained by Doctor Ferdinand’s side. It was like he was just following rules without interest. It was almost pathetic. Not to mention, his general reluctance towards his so-called Uncle.

   Thus began their double battle. Having the highest speed out of all the Pokemon present, it was Scary Monsters the Tyrantrum which was granted the privilege of attacking first so Diego gave his Pokemon a solemn command. Again, he seemed lackluster. Prior to his “hunting game”, he had been enthused about battling but now, there was no such passion to his voice or actions.

   ‘Attack that disgusting Diggersby-’

   ‘Oi! My Poor Tom is a handsome little man, ya feral reptile!’ Gyro called out in anger to Johnny’s exasperation and Doctor Ferdinand’s distaste.

   ‘Using Dragon Claw, Scary Monsters.’

   True once more, there was little emotion to Diego’s command, even though he was rudely interrupted by Gyro.

   Diego’s Tyrantrum’s claws turned from white to a glowing, pale blue. It stomped forward; shaking its head about and a drool-like growl accompanied its dramatics. It scratched viciously at Diggersby. Its claws raked across Diggersby’s rotund belly and knocked it down.

   ‘Use Mud Shot on those asshole Tyrantrum!’ Gyro shouted with extraneous hand gestures to emphasise his frustration.

  Diggersby jumped to its large feet and swung itself up. Flares of residual Spin energy shot up around it whilst it released a barrage of mud across the field. The mud was thick and light brown in colour. Multiple hits of the mud splattered against the pair of foe Tyrantrum. They reared their heads back in disgust and appeared to have taken medium damage. It was a tease though of what could be effective against them.

   Gyro shot Johnny a concerned glance and Johnny’s hardened eyes softened. He nodded. Gyro’s breath hitched in his throat. On the next turn, they were going to unleash something nasty. That moment between them was their unspoken agreement to what would unfold on their next turn.

   ‘Lady Dior, use Rock Slide!’ Doctor Ferdinand said.

   His Tyrantrum lifted its head and roared at the stars. The monstrous noise resounded and echoed vividly through the ridges and mountains. From the thin, frigid air burst a clatter of boulders of different sizes and weights. They were thrown forward with powers unknown.

   Diggersby leaped towards Clefairy and shielded it from the worst of the attack. Johnny gasped and even Gyro was wide-eyed. Neither had expected that. Perhaps the other night had been to some benefit and not just awkwardness between the Trainers or perhaps it was something else. Either way, their plan was safe even though Diggersby had taken considerable damage by being the one to the burden the brunt of the attack.

    ‘Angel, use Moonblast on Lady Dior!’ Johnny shouted and he pointed to the Tyrantrum belonging to Doctor Ferdinand for good and dramatic measure.

   Johnny held his hand in an odd posture though; like he was trying to use himself to attack as well. Perhaps such vicious energy may flow into Angel if he were lucky; like with Gyro and his Spin technique.

   Angel gathered light energy upon its tongue. Great pink and white lights turned to celestial spheres not unlike stars within its mouth before being launched forward in a powerful and beautiful beam. Doctor Ferdinand’s Tyrantrum was unable to evade the gorgeous and stellar attack. It took the brunt of the attack with a grunt and was not felled but it swayed. It would appear that Clefairy had triggered a successful, critical hit.

   Doctor Ferdinand growled and glared at Diego. Diego ignored him and proceeded to continue with his own, mental plan. Any synergy the uncle and nephew may have once shared was now dead.

   ‘Scary Monsters, use Dragon Claw on Diggersby.’

   Again? Gyro thought to himself with a furrowed brow.

   Diego’s Tyrantrum obeyed. It surged forward once more and slashed at Diggersby with claws aglow with a beautiful blue. Diggersby took the attack once more without chance of evasion. Diggersby chattered and it was a horrible noise that caused dread to lump at the bottom of Gyro’s stomach. His own consolidation to this was that his Poor Tom was not the only Pokemon in this battle that was in a critical condition in terms of health and that the other Pokemon in said state was not Johnny’s Clefairy.

   ‘Poor Tom...’ Gyro licked his lips as hesitation continued to weigh him down.

   ‘It’s okay. I trust you. For real.’ Johnny murmured.

   ‘Poor Tom! Use Earthquake!’ Gyro yelled at the top of his lungs, consoled by Johnny’s affirmation.

   Gyro’s Diggersby howled as it caused the entire battlefield to shake and tremble. Rocks quivered and bounced as the ground split. Clefairy squealed and took damage but the attack also thrust upon its foes of Doctor Ferdinand and Diego’s Tyrantrum. The pair of revived Fossil Pokemon roared and growled as they tried to surrender to the attack.

   However, the attack also reached the true, intended targets: Doctor Ferdinand and Diego themselves.

   ‘Stronger, Tommy-boy!’ Gyro yelled.

   ‘Diggers!’ his Diggersby screeched in unleashed reply.

   The ground shook even harder now. Johnny latched onto gyro and Gyro latched onto an outcrop. Doctor Ferdinand went down like a brick house and Diego jumped into the air in the nick of time and was able to avoid at least part of the attack. In the chaos, something precious was lost.

   Doctor Ferdinand’s hand hit against a risen rock and his fingers unwound from what he had been protectively holding. The Dragon Stones were sent flying.

   ‘Get them!’ Doctor Ferdinand and Johnny yelled at their respective partner in this double battle.

   Diego and Gyro both gave chase. The rumbling of the Earthquake began to cease but the confusion it had caused was still present. The Earthquake had shaken loose sand and it now covered the field. Diego and Gyro sifted through it madly and soon parted; never truly bisecting.

   Gyro knelt down. He swayed slightly as the sand pooled at his knees. Diego seemed to hoard something. Did he have both Dragon Stones and was Gyro’s posture an admission of defeat?

   Johnny thought so as despair began to coil through him. It would appear that it had all been for naught. Their furtive glances and trust, it had all be ultimately misplaced and in vain. They had definitely lost two of the Dragon Stones to their enemies. Doctor Ferdinand had no certainty.

   ‘Look at me!’ he shrieked. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Raise your face and look at me, Gyro Zeppeli!’  

   Gyro seemed to don an ominous smile as he slowly lifted his head in obedience to Doctor Ferdinand’s shrieking. He flicked his hat upwards and further revealed his face. There was a reddish mark on his right cheek; like he had dived face first into a rock but it was the wound he had on his left cheek that was cause for concern. His smile turned to a lurid grin.

   Beneath his eye, the whitish Dragon Stone was sinking into his cheek. His skin was grabbing onto it and pulling it deeper inside of his face. It was a grotesque sight. But not one without pain.

   Gyro held onto his face as he screeched in genuine pain. This wasn’t him playing pretend. He was in actual pain. His yells and screams were twisted and grating upon the ear. In horrific mimicry of the bestial statue the Dragon Stone had once been embedded in, it sank into the flesh and softness of Gyro’s eye.

   When his screams faded from both his mouth and from the echoes, Gyro got up and he seemed somewhat normal. He now bore heterochromia: a green iris in his left eye and a pale brown iris upon his right eye; beneath his right eye, he now also bore something akin to a tattoo. Extending from his eyelid was a mark that was like a rounded arrowhead which was a design not unlike the one that was raised upon the Dragon Stones.

   His expression returned to neutral. ‘Let’s finish this battle, Johnny.’

   ‘Y-Yeah.’ Johnny stuttered out.

   ‘Diego! Do you have the other Dragon Stone?’ Doctor Ferdinand barked at him.

   Diego did not reply. He didn’t even acknowledge the question.

   ‘You useless son of a bitch! Fuck it, I’ll find it myself once I annihilate these two imbeciles and steal their Dragon Stones!’ Doctor Ferdinand shouted.

     Diego’s spine straightened. His fists tightened by his side. He seemed like he was barely containing an explosive anger. Veins throbbed in his head and he seethed, waited.

   ‘Lady Dior, use Earthquake!’ Doctor Ferdinand screeched.

   Once more, the earth beneath them did tremble before the power of a Pokemon. Doctor Ferdinand’s Tyrantrum let rip a great roar of exhaustion and power. Before it, the rocks upon the ground did tremble and bounce.  Despite being severely weakened, Doctor Ferdinand’s Tyrantrum was able to attack viciously and with desperate power. Trees shook and all foe Pokemon on the field took damage. Diego’s Tyrantrum howled but bore the attack the best it could. Johnny’s Clefairy was not so fortunate. It stumbled back and mewled, Johnny was forced to recall it. Out of all them, it was Gyro’s Diggersby that was able to resist the worst of it.

   Johnny glanced at Gyro. The battle was drawing to a near. He had no one to throw in and sending in Skies the Limit or Jewel-Eyed Judy would be suicide even with their ground immunities.

   Now, it was back to Diego’s turn and there was a turn in his eyes. A gruesome shift. He was quietly eager. He turned his body slightly.

   His eyes flashed. ‘Uncle Ferdinand, it is my duty to inform you that my mother is not a bitch.’  

   Diego spoke calmly. Serenely, even. His shoulders were rolled back and there was this mystified moment of pause where people tried to react. Johnny and Gyro were slowly becoming awkward since this was clearly a familial tiff of som description but Doctor Ferdinand, he was still trying to understand what Diego’s plan was. It was clear to the young man’s body language that he had some sort of plan of attack. Then, Diego continued and with his next command for his Tyrantrum, clarity was soon achieved.

   ‘Scary Monsters…’ he drawled out. ‘Attack Lady Dior with Crunch!’

   ‘Wh-What?’ Johnny murmured.

   ‘You dare attack me?!’ Doctor Ferdinand screeched.

   ‘Yes! I do dare attack you! I’ve had it with you!’ Diego screamed.

   His eyes flared and his arms shot back. He breathed heavily and soon began a most surprising onslaught of rebellion against Doctor Ferdinand who never even got the chance to defend himself. Which was likely a very good thing as Diego was dragging up much baggage to this sudden argument.

   ‘I don’t care if you’ve looked after me since I was a destitute child, you’ve done nothing but domineer over me and I’ve hated it! You were the one to name Scary Monsters, my most faithful companion and partner. I’ve had no say in anything - it’s all been part of some sort of plan to get social capital through me, don’t think I’m dumb just because I’m not as normal as other people! Even now, as we battle, I don’t know what we’re battling for! I… I know what I’m battling for. It is revenge but even so, even though I battle dishonourably, I - I enjoy battling. I… enjoyed battling. But you took that from me and guess fucking what? I’m taking it back. I don’t know what these Dragon Stones are capable of - gods, fate, ancient dragons, it’s all ludicrous mumbo-jumbo to me - but I am going to take them for myself and I am going to use their powers for myself. And you are not going to take that from me.’

   Diego paused. He licked his lips. He was a little bit shaky.

   ‘Scary Monsters, use Crunch on Lady Dior.’ Diego commanded.

   ‘You always did have your tantrums.’ Doctor Ferdinand rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a fool, boy. Just like that Joestar. The Dragon Stones won’t bring her back to you.’

   Diego was silent. Gyro took some interest. Things were really heating up.

   Doctor Ferdinand was useless. He could do nothing to protect his Tyrantrum from Diego’s. Diego’s Tyrantrum surged forward and bore its fangs. It grabbed onto a soft, fleshy bit beneath its foe’s neck and bit down hard. The resulting roar was nigh deafening as it threw back its head in defeat. The last of its health had been destroyed.

   Doctor Ferdinand hastily recalled his Tyrantrum. Diego locked eyes with Gyro and Gyro nodded.

   ‘Poor Tom, return!’ he yelled.

   ‘Scary Monsters, return!’ Diego added.

   There was a pair of silver flashes. Their respective Pokemon were snatched by the lights. The match was officially over.

   ‘What? We’ve almost got him!’ Johnny shouted.

   ‘This match is a draw. We go our separate ways.’ Gyro decided. ‘It’s all over now, Johnny.’

   Doctor Ferdinand cackled. ‘Ha, I can assure you that our paths will cross again but for now, i shall admit defeat.’ He sneered. ‘Johnny Joestar, perhaps the next time we meet, we can decide once and for all which one of us the ancient dragons will favour. Science… or fairy tales?’

   He recalled his quadruped and shielded Fossil Pokemon to his side - Roxy - and skulked off with heavy thuds. Diego disappeared after that. Not so much as a cry farewell to either Johnny and Gyro or Doctor Ferdinand. That was probably for the best though especially since yet another rival for the Dragon Stones had been birthed after tonight. Gyro had called that battle a draw but it felt more like a loss - and a scathing one at that. The only consolation was that Diego probably wasn’t affiliated with Team Pax Unova.

   Gyro and Johnny started to wander off too, talking.

   ‘I wonder for what purpose Diego’s going to start collecting the Dragon Stones for. His uncle mentioned a “her”. Do you think it’s possible that he wants to see his long-lost wife again?’ Gyro asked with a lilting chuckle.

   ‘Shut up. Aren’t you scared? He’s gonna come after us again but it’s strange.’ Johnny said. ‘I’m fucking terrified of the idea of him personally antagonising us but I have a strange respect for him. It takes a lot of guts to talk to your old man like that... Well, uncle in Dio’s case.’

   ‘Yeah. I know what you mean.’ Gyro said, he had always felt like an ineloquent dolt whenever he had tried to talk back to his own father but seeing Diego fight back like that, it was impressive. ‘What do you think sparked all that to come to the surface?’

   ‘Haven’t a clue but it's possible even Diego loves his mother.’ Johnny replied with a half-hearted shrug. ‘But man, that Doctor Ferdinand said some strange shit. Even got me going.’

   ‘Ah, thank you for reminding me. I was going to ask about that. I thought you weren’t a religious man, what came over you back there?’

   ‘Haven’t the foggiest.’

   ‘I’m impressed though.’

   ‘Why?’

   ‘Takes a lot to stand up for you believe in.’

   ‘Don’t believe in, more like. Like, don’t get me wrong. I am extremely fucking certain there is at least one cruel, capricious god out there but I dunno if I hold any beliefs or not but those were stories I grew up with. Maybe they are fairy tales, maybe they aren’t. I don’t know. All I know is that they’re connected to precious memories and it was pissing me off that a so-called “man of science” was getting so many facts wrong.’

   ‘Hm, getting stuff wrong, eh? I gotta agree. He said the absence of truth and ideals would be justice. I disagree. I think the absence of it would be lies and falsehoods.’

   ‘Are we really gonna get into a philosophical debate on this?’

   ‘Why? You disagree with me or somethin’ huh, Johnny?’

   ‘Yeah. The absence of truth and ideals would be anarchy.’

   Gyro laughed. ‘That makes more sense actually. But my answer makes sense to me and that’s all that matters.’

   ‘...How come?’ Johnny asked. He wondered of Gyro would let him prod something like.

   Gyro stopped walking, he turned back and winked at Johnny. ‘I was raised in a household where my very foundations were lies. Maybe that’s why.’

   He sounded so playful as he spoke. Johnny didn’t get it.

   Gyro continued on again and changed the topic of conversation as he put his hands behind his head. ‘Man, could you imagine if people back in my homeland got this chuffed over Xerneas and Yveltal and tried to resurrect them.’

   ‘Stars, that’d be a disaster.’

   ‘Oh? You’re familiar with them?’

   ‘A little bit. Enough.’

   ‘Tomorrow night, that can be our campfire story.’

   ‘Whatever you say.’

   ‘Hm, wonder what such a lot of hooligans would call themselves? Team Pax Kalos?’

   ‘Nah, something with more flair, for sure.’

   Their conversation brought them to the brink of the ridge. Johnny was a tad more cautious as they approached the edge. Meanwhile, Gyro held his head out over it and he saw a mountainous path winding through. Slowly, his Mudsdale and Johnny’s Zebstrika totted into view. Mudsdale pottered along through whilst Zebstrika sniffed at frigid grass, perhaps out of hunger.

   Gyro grinned. ‘Look at that! Told you I’ve got a smart mount.’ Gyro jumped over a ridge and skidded down the edge.

   ‘C’mon, even if we’ve got terrorists up to our necks and Diego on our ass, we’ve still got to win this race - and the rest of those pesky Badges. I mean, we still don’t know if these things even have the power to bring about the miracles we’re after. But, let’s focus on what we do know which is that the race is still a race even if it is some sort of conspiracy and the influence it has is very much real. Real enough to set a kid condemned to death free.’

   Johnny hesitantly followed. Gyro saddled up his Mudsdale and it made off noises. Johnny eventually got up on the back of his Zebstrika.

   ‘I still need one hundred points to keep afloat in the race and this next Badge, it has my name on it. I can feel it in my soul.’

   Gyro paused. He squinted ahead. ‘I’ve been thinking this for a little bit now but is it me or is super bright out?’

   ‘Nah, it’s still pretty dark. Might be morning though. What’re you on?’

   ‘Haven’t the foggiest.’ Gyro tugged on his Mudsdale’s reins. ‘Wait, where was I? Oh right, the next stage. There’s only sixty kilometres left 'til the next goal. That’s what we should focus on.’


	32. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny says that Diego "hungers" but Gyro must prove that he "hungers" more.

   It was peculiar to think their end goal - Humilau City - was a short trip west and they were headed south. Maria’s voice boomed through the air as the sun grew warmer, overlooking the gorgeous vista countless mounts and Trainers were dashing through. It was of pleasant hills and gnolls; luscious green grass and a lakeside town that was had a cresting of a thick forest was in the nearby distance.

   ‘In exciting news, I am now able to reveal surprising news! I have received confirmation that Diego “Dio” Brando has been the one to claim the second Badge! We are now downhill on the south side of Opelucid City, and of the Third Stage! Roshan Town is the marker for the end of the Third Stage as it's the final threshold before the daunting Entralink Forest which will serve as home to the Fourth Stage! The goal is but five kilometres away!’

   There was a scattering of Trainers through the open fields. Most were concentrated at the back but there was rare few at the front, leading the herd in desperation to cross the line first.

   ‘Here, we can bear witness to a strange phenomenon as he draw in closer to the goal. It’s as though our competitors are human magnets!’ Maria described. ‘Although they ran five hundred and ten kilometres with an estimated race time of seven days minimum, as the sun rises, all of the talented racers gather together! For some reason, their scattered distances shrink! This will be another close one! It will inevitably be another heated battle!’

   There was a lull in commentary wherein only thundering hooves could be heard. There was a breeze present though, clouds in the sky. All of it seemed peripheral to the race though. Beneath the near silence, the Trainers were able to travel two kilometres before Maria’s voice started up again; her Noibat swooping around, transmitting it.

   ‘Opelucid City and surrounding mountains are truly in behind us all now! The distance has shrunk to a remaining three kilometres until the goal now. Let’s take a look at our Trainers!

   ‘In the front of the crowd, we have Pocoloco from Nuvema Town! Followed by the barefoot runner, Sandman! From Johto, we have Dot Han and Gaucho from Alola! Baba Yaga from the far west of Kalos! And with some space behind them all, is Gyro Zeppeli! Then, Johnny Joestar who is currently ranking in third and the sole other holder of a coveted Badge! And Kalos’ Diego Brando!

   ‘Hm? What’s this? Diego Brando is acting bizarre out here on the field! Dio is ranked first at the end of the Second Stage at one hundred and fifty points, and like I mentioned earlier, he also has a nifty-keen Fossil Badge to his name! After Dio Brando is Sandman with one-hundred-and-forty points, ten points behind Dio! At such a score, that would make Sandman Dio’s biggest rival! If he can only beat Sandman, then Diego Brando can secure a very safe lead!’

   Diego had a confident look upon his face which had become slightly distorted. He bore a strange marking beneath his left eye; the iris of which had no longer matched the blue of his right eye. Rather than a pair of blue eyes, he now sported a beige-brown iris ringed with lettering - an appearance not unlike Gyro’s newly acquired heterochromia, actually.

   ‘It seems that Dio is unconcerned with Sandman who is far ahead!’ Marian commentated. ‘It seems he’s thinking that so long as he can beat Gyro Zeppeli then he has all but won this stage!’

   Having heard his name, Gyro’s ears pricked up. He cautiously turned his head and shot a glance at Diego. But then he turned his attention back to Johnny so he could make his own comments about the unfolding events in this segment of the race and how they had been affected by their battle with Diego the other night.

   There had been an unexpected development from the absorption of the Dragon Stone in Gyro’s body and it could be assumed the same development had taken place for Diego. This made him a threat for all the usual reasons but some new ones as well.

   ‘Dio, on that mountain…’ Gyro murmured. ‘I think he’s come to understand the power of the Dragon Stones. Do you think he’ll start something here?’

   Johnny was quick to reply with a resolute answer: ‘No. There’s no way he would risk disqualification at this point in the race. Not with the goal right in front of us and all the witnesses. He’s planning to beat this stage - beat you, Gyro - without any breaking of rules.’

   Even with their conversation, they continued to move forward. The mounts raced forward. The pound of hooves was deafening and inescapable. With another checkpoint so close, it was hard to believe they were still so far from finishing the race not just here but as a whole. It was going to get even harder from here on out as the mediocre were being culled by exhaustion and lack of conviction, even.

   ‘To him, moving past you is just as good as moving past Sandman which would lead him to victory!’ Johnny explained. ‘It’s his fighting intuition!’

   He threw another glance Diego’s way. His tics were showing. He was breathing deep and grinning an eerie grin from ear to ear. He seemed to emanate a vile eagerness. He seemed to reverberate with how he held onto his rens and kept his legs in their stirrups. His mind seemed sharper than usual: the most key component to his body language which seemed strangely amplified.

   He was murmuring to himself. Diego spoke in a husky voice fed off of rasping, hoarse breaths to a rhythm only understood by himself.

   ‘This distance... The breaths of their mounts… Their pulse rates… Their perspiration… Their strides… It is all within my calculations.’

   The secret of the Dragon Stones, when absorbed into the eye, were able to enhance kinetic vision. Being drastically different men, Gyro and Diego were now utilising this ability in rather branched manners. With his vision having grown stronger, Gyro could see the vibrations of all which had significantly brightened his perception of the world. He could use the Spin in new ways and enhance his old methods. He was now able to draw forth even more hidden potential in his Pokemon through the new ability he had acquired.

   Diego applied his newly found enhanced kinetic vision in a different manner. Gyro was a man of actions. Diego was a man of observations, to put it concisely. He used this newfound ability to sharpen his already well honed and eerily accurate visions of eccentricities and patterns no one else can detect. Through it, he could now steal the data of their mounts and their partner Pokemon with inhuman efficiency and he could alter his actions accordingly.

   ‘Let me explain the lay of the land!’ Marian announced. ‘Now, right before the goal, we have the Lake Roshan with a circumference of three thousand and nine hundred kilometres. If the racers choose to go right, they will be taking a route that is waterside. It’s flat but fairly length in that it is two thousand and three hundred metres to the finishing line! Choosing left means a seven hundred metres shorter route but seventeen hundred metres of it will be on the cliffs with many ups and downs!

   ‘Which will they choose? How will it affect the muscles of their mount Pokemon which have been travelling through this mountainous area for five days now? This is a new experience for everyone, even their Pokemon! Their choices will become a gamble!’

   Johnny huffed. He could already feel disastrous plans emanate from Gyro’s head as he considered the options.

   ‘We have to right, Gyro! Don’t you dare say left!’ he shouted, testy. ‘Think of Val and Dancer: the key to victory will be how much rest we can give our mounts!’

   Gyro was silent. Stony-faced too. Johnny couldn’t read him when he was that guarded.

   ‘As expected of Sandman, he has headed left! Oh, and Pocoloco has followed! He’s taking his chances with the cliffs!’

   The herd was beginning to split. People were making their choices and fast. Johnny’s agitation began to flare because as far as he could tell, Gyro was still undecided even though the wise option would be to go right.

   ‘The ones going right are Dot Han followed by Baba Yaga and Gaucho, who have switched places!’

   Johnny saw as people were beginning to go in opposite directions but then he watched as Gyro did the unfathomable. Leave it to someone as strange as Gyro to find a unique solution in a two-way solution. He charged forward, recklessly, into the water and Johnny couldn’t have been more shocked.

   Gyro rode a Mudsdale, for goodness’ sake!

   Nevertheless, he charged into the water with a determined grimace across his face. His faithful partner Pokemon obeyed his orders even though it was detrimental. Johnny watched, now uncertain of his own course of action only to have his cluttered thoughts superseded by the actions of Diego.

   Diego followed Gyro into the lake.

   Johnny desperately wanted to admonish that but at least Sawsbuck has a resistance over water rather than a weakness to it. Both of them were insane.

   Marian’s voice rang out over the sloshing water as their mounts beat through the lapping waves.

   ‘What a surprise!’ Marian cooed, even she was shocked by the lunacy of the turn of events, it would appear - or maybe she was just putting on airs like the show woman she was. ‘Diego Brando follows Gyro Zeppeli into the lake!’

   Johnny’s heart hammered in his chest. Now half the countryside knew and if he didn’t make a choice, he’d be left in everyone’s dust. He wanted to go right. He knew he had to go right. But he also knew he would have to follow Gyro even if it meant going into the lake. A consolidation, he found in this grim and time sensitive situation, was that at least his Zebstrika had a water resistance.

   ‘But it may not the be wisest choice!’

   Damn right, Marian, Johnny agreed in his thoughts.

   ‘The water resistance will wear out the mounts like nothing else; not to mention type detriments!’ Marian commentated. ‘And yet, genius racer Dio has chosen that route! The distance is much shorter at four hundred and fifty metres; it may just be the fastest route!’

   Diego seemed to surge along at the same pace as Sandman who was hopping along the cliffs with his entourage in tow. It gave some credibility to Marian’s theory but whether or not it was going to be worth it with how exhaustion comes into play, was still up in the air.

   ‘This race has just gotten a heck of a lot more interesting!’ Marian added. ‘A real battle in front of the goal!’

   ‘Fuck…’ Johnny murmured.

   He was hesitating atop the back of his Zebstrika but his will to move was indomitable so he followed through with the stupidity. He caved at the peer pressure. Or, perhaps, it was the taunt. Gyro wasn’t doing anything in particular but that was more than enough to convey the sort of haughtiness he possessed.

   ‘It’s bait…’ Johnny recognised the scenario. ‘Don’t come to me if you’re scared, that’s it, isn’t it Gyro? Dammit, Gyro...’

   Johnny cursed Gyro’s name as he unabashedly followed into the water. He hoped that there better be some sort of lesson in this lunacy. Something that inches him closer not only to this goal but his overarching one.

   His Zebstrika struggled in the water. However, for Johnny, it continued on. It battled through the waves which were placid but hard to navigate regardless.

   Johnny yelled out to Gyro as his Zebstrika managed to catch up with the lumbering, struggling Mudsdale just ahead of them. It was madness.

   ‘This is nuts, Gyro!’ Johnny shouted. ‘It’s like your Mudsdale is carrying another Mudsdale on top of it, out here! The water resistance requires muscles that aren’t normally used, not to mention the type disadvantage: you’re only weakening Valkyrie by going out this way!’

   Through gritted teeth, a frustrated reply from Gyro came: ‘That’s why I’m slowing to a minimum - and you should too. This way, there won’t be too much stress on their limbs! Besides, this is just the speed I need to get ahead of the rest going around the lake! I’m sure that’s what Dio’s thinking too!’

   Gyro lifted his head and the heterochromia he now possessed seemed to become more prominent. He scanned his surroundings and he could see it all and more. A confident but not arrogant expression crossed his face as he come to understand the movements in his surroundings; however minute.

   ‘I’m going to get points in this stage. No matter what. Or else victory will evade me - us - further. I came to win this race; my fatherland is waiting!’

   As he spoke, a sort of serenity came over him. It even came over Johnny. It was peculiar but utterly inaccurate. It conveyed a self-assurance that Johnny believed Gyro was not entitled to.

   ‘Gyro, c’mon, it’s not too late to head back. Let’s go back and race from the right!’ Johnny called out.

   Gyro unflinchingly continued onwards. Johnny sighed. He hoped that Gyro could still listen because this was something that needed to be heard by him quite dearly.

   ‘I don’t want to say this but this my prediction.’ he began.

   He saw Gyro’s ears prick up at this. His expression shifted by a slight tweak and Johnny could tell this was not something Gyro wanted to hear because it contradicted his beliefs. It merely made Johnny all the more certain that he ought to speak his mind on the matter.

   ‘You can’t defeat Dio!’ he declared. ‘You won’t get first place in this stage.’

   Gyro turned his head. His eyes locked with Johnny’s. Anger had moulded over his handsome features. He scared Johnny a little but Johnny remained firm in his experience and predictions.

   ‘This isn’t about the ability of the Dragon Stones you and Dio are in possession of. It’s not about your weak points. That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Johnny glared. ‘It’s well, how do you say…? You should have been able to win the first two stages. Based on technique and drive. You could have won.’

   Gyro was losing interest in Johnny’s rambling. They were wasting time. The impatience was flaring in his eyes.

   ‘What is it? Just say it. Hey, Johnny Joestar, if you’re going to come up and talk to me, say it clearly.’ Gyro roused.

   Johnny took a breath and raised his head. He became certain of his clarity. He easily found his words and they seemed to darken him.

   ‘You will lose to Dio. I am being clear. I can tell. You can’t beat Sandman either. I can tell from experience. You thinking that your losses in the first two stages as being accidents or whims of fate is incorrect. There is something else. Something else has caused your defeats. You’ve learned from inheritance. From your parents, from your country.’

   Flashes of memories stirred in Gyro’s mind from Johnny’s words. He came face to face with misty images of his father and of Marco. They were like ghosts but rather than haunting him, they were guiding him.

   ‘You’re running this race with technique and energy… I understand that you're in a cornered situation where you have to save that boy from certain death and there are, likely, larger political motives riding upon your shoulders too if the assassins we’ve met are any indicator. But, those are all things you’ve inherited from your family and your country’s legacy. You are one who has continually inherited!’

   Gyro glared at Johnny. He wasn’t wrong. It was just a bitter truth to hear and not one Gyro fully understood. Where was the sin in inheritance? In legacy?

   Johnny glanced at Diego. He was still riding out slowly in the water. His Sawsbuck’s head bobbed above the azure water.

   ‘Dio is different! He has stolen everything from his skills in both battle and riding to his social status, and even food. Ever since birth, Dio has been a person who has stolen even destiny. Dio is someone who has hungered! You’re a successor! I’m not saying which one is bad and which one is good, it’s just the difference becomes crucial in desperate moments of the race and of the fight. It’s that difference which will steal victory and eat you up.’ Johnny explained.

   ‘So what you're saying is... That I’m a spoiled brat, huh Johnny?’ Gyro growled. ‘Is that it, Johnny? Do you think I’m a coward softened by coddling from my parents or something?’

   Johnny glared back. Gyro appeared to have misunderstood or maybe he had understood perfectly and was merely defensive because it cut deeper than Johnny intended. Either way, Johnny was going to maintain himself and this stance on the matter. He looked Gyro in the eye and placed his hands on his hips.

   ‘You can’t win unless you hunger.’ Johnny stated. ‘But not like Dio hungers. You need to hunger in a much more nobler manner.’

   Johnny huffed and Gyro still seemed to reel with some sort of disbelief. It was odd; getting back talked by Johnny when usually it was the other way. Johnny may be a novice to the Spin but it was clear he considered Gyro a novice to the realm of professional battling and racing. Perhaps their education between each other wasn’t as singular as either of them had once thought.

   Johnny tugged on his reins and shook his head. ‘I’m going back to shore.’ he announced as his Zebstrika turned around; splashing at Gyro and his Mudsdale. ‘Sorry but I’m taking the route to the right.’

   As Johnny retreated, the announcer’s voice rang out across the lake from the hot air balloon above. Her eyes seemed trained in on Diego and his movements which had suddenly turned erratic; something Gyro had noticed too in the wake of Johnny’s fleeing.

   ‘What’s this now? Dio has sped up! Is it to agitate Gyro or is it because everything has been planned out?’

   Diego had cut across from Gyro who was slowly sinking into mud; stiffened by his conversation with Johnny. Diego had made good distance ahead of Gyro. His Sawsbuck was gliding through the water, albeit inefficiently but compared to Gyro’s Mudsdale it was beautiful in the water.

   ‘It looks like he wants to reach the shore and take head position! He’s already one-third of the way there! He’s slowly distancing himself from Gyro!’ Marian commentated.

   Gyro looked around. It was true. He was in Diego’s wake and he was resolutely charging on ahead. And in the scanning of his surroundings, Gyro had also noticed that Johnny had made it back up to shore. He was now building sped as he returned to the riders who had chosen to go right also.

   Johnny snuck a glance over his shoulders. From what he could tell, Gyro was frozen in the water. He felt something like pity towards Gyro. Without hunger, he cannot win. But he also felt something like hope for Gyro: hope that Gyro could learn from his inheritance and learn to hunger. It would be slow but it would be progress nonetheless. But, as he was now, he was only like to come second or third in the general racing; even in terms of battling and Badge collection, those were his likely placings without deep hunger for the win. Though the race was long and they had just begun but without change, that was the prediction Johnny had for Gyro.

   A wistful gaze came over Johnny as he stared out towards Gyro. He knew why he had followed Gyro into the Steel Ball Run. He wanted to see the one of inheritance win a race like this, after all, the Spin - what Johnny wanted to learn from Gyro - was that of inheritance. Not hunger.

   Gyro huffed and he made his decision. He decided to continue to charge onwards, through the lake. Marian cooed over the speakers, ecstatic by the development as it was far more daring than retreat.

   ‘And… Amazing, Gyro is going for it!’ she yelled. ‘He’s going to accept Dio’s challenge! He’s speeding up!’

   His Mudsdale hefted its weight through the water. He held on tightly. Together, they ploughed through and attempted to catch up to Diego. Through gritted teeth, Gyro cursed Johnny but that was a misdirection. It was easier to blame him than himself. Gyro had made his decisions though and he would follow through regardless of Johnny’s opinion.

   That muttering to himself turned to agitation which, in turn, fed into Mudsdale’s movements. After all, there was no partner Pokemon more attune to its Trainer than a mount and his Mudsdale was receiving all that frustration. Thus, their movement was hindered. Yes, it was all Johnny’s fault though: what he had said and insinuated. Besides, Gyro didn’t need to worry. He had a special plan for when they hit land once more; something that not even Diego could overcome. There was no need to get distracted, really.

   Diego cast a glance backwards. Through the use of his Dragon Stone, he was able to use his vision to a superhuman extent. It was marvellous. Nothing could escape his notice, not anymore. It did not matter how minute. The previously noted observations of Gyro’s Mudsdale could now be scrutinised further and elaborated on now because of these new abilities.

   ‘Gyro’s Mudsdale’s pulse is currently at one hundred and ninety-eight.’ he mused and then relied on his observations from Stage One. ‘After breathing twice, it’ll take a deep breath and shift its body to the left. Then, it will shake its head’

   Then, like clockwork, Gyro’s Mudsdale did just that. It huffed and snorted before subtly swinging to the left. It perhaps went on a little further before shaking its neck. It was just as Diego had thought.

   Diego lifted his head and stared out to shore. The distance was ever shortening thanks to the hard work of his Sawsbuck. He scanned the distance and thought to himself. He made a prediction.

   He believed that neither Gyro nor his mount would know this but he was certain that this would take place within the next few moments. He believed that Gyro’s Mudsdale will take its first steps upon land using its left foot first. Then, by anticipating the lengths of Mudsdale’s strides, he was certain that by the seventy-fifth stride, it would step on a branch; the very same one that Diego could see from where he was currently but it was a barely noticeable blight on the ground.

   About three hundred metres from the goal is about where the branch was but also where Mudsdale would reach full speed once more. If Mudsdale did indeed step on the branch, that would put its pulse rate at about two hundred and thirty-six.  At that moment, it would become overwhelmed by fatigue. Though it was a risk for himself, it is a bigger risk for Gyro. For, the moment he was to step on that branch, he would become incapable of overtaking Diego and Diego would secure the lead.

   Until then, all Diego has to do, is stay ahead. He only had to stay ahead of the branch.

   With each stride, the race grew closer. Those who had gone around the right were nearing the final bend of the lake. Diego was mere metres from the shoreline. Gyro was behind him. It was intense and noisy.

   ‘Dot Han, Baba Yaga, and Gaucho are speeding up!’ Marian commentated. ‘They’re coming in from the right side! Oh! And Sandman had cleared the cliffs! He is also headed straight for the goal!’

   Bounding along with his Pokemon in tow in the distance, Sandman made it back to flat ground. As he did, Diego had also made it to dryland also. From the moment, his Sawsbuck put its hoof on the dry land, it was able to propel itself into a heated sprint to claim the lead.

   ‘And it looks like Dio is finally back on land! Dio is in the lead! Five hundred metres remaining!’ Marian yelled.

   Gyro’s Mdsdale’s ears flicked. It huffed and snorted. It appeared agitated by the rivalry it had with Sawsbuck and disliked that it had been left behind. Gyro stroked its neck and cooed to it.

   ‘Not yet, Valkyrie.’ he told it. ‘Don’t get excited now, save your energy for later. For the very end.’

   ‘Pocoloco has cleared the cliffs!’ Marian added.

   Gyro turned his head. Sure enough, to the far left, Pocoloco was bounding in on the back of his Tauros and was careening towards the goal like Sandan and the others. Seeing that was enough to stoke at the embers of Gyro’s competitive spirit too but he maintained himself.

   ‘C’mon, Valkyrie, don’t run yet. Think of this as a practice race; doesn’t count, nothin’ matters, we’re just relaxing.’ he lied.

   ‘Johnny Joestar closes in on Dot Han!’ Marian continued with the play-by-play.

   Gyro didn’t let it get to him. He had keep composure of Mudsdale’s sake even if he wanted to see how Johnny was doing. He’d done well to catch up, Gyro would give him that for now.

   ‘Not yet, just a little bit more; rest a little bit more.’ he muttered.

   He could feel his Mudsdale’s body begin to lift as the lake floor underfoot began to rise to meet the shoreline. But then, its body moved abruptly and the water sloshed around them. They had made it. With that, they were sopping wet but more importantly, they were back on land.

   ‘And now Gyro Zeppeli’s finally back on land!’ Marian yelped, excitedly.

   ‘Left foot…’ Diego murmured as he hazarded a glance backwards and he waited for the moment he could see clearly.

   And it was true. Mudsdale had used its left leg to begin with. From that, Mudsdale was able to lurch forward and begin to build speed. It was almost immediate but from a large and bulky mount like Mudsdale, something of a slow start was to be expected.

   ‘And he begins to accelerate! Gyro Zeppeli: he’s running at a tremendous speed!’ Marian yelled.

   With the lake behind them now, it was the town ahead of them. It was scattered about, thin and welcoming. There was a banner to signify the race and hundreds of onlookers. The whole town was likely spectating.

   Within in a matter of seconds, it seemed, Gyro had caught up to Diego. There was something rabid and fervent about the way he and his Mudsdale raced. Especially in contrast to the calculated cool that both Diego and his mount possessed.

   ‘It’s almost as if he’s a Zangoose gig after a Seviper: he’s right on Diego’s trail with a vengeance!’ Marian described.

   Gyro unhooked a pair of PokeBalls from his holsters then threw off some of his belongings. Gyro now rode wearing only his green undershirt. He tossed one of the PokeBalls in the air and called for one of his Pokemon:

   ‘Go, go, Decibel!’ he cried out.

   From a flash, his Linoone leapt into action. It scampered out behind him, happily collecting the belongings he had discarded - to the utter confusion of Marian who commentated.

   ‘What’s this?’ she yelled. ‘He’s thrown off his jacket and trademark holsters?’

   Diego was unfazed by the development. He glanced at Gyro. The three hundred metre mark was approaching. He could count the seconds now.

   One step, two steps, then snap!

   Mudsdale’s hoof broke clean through the branch. For Gyro, it had been unceremonious. Another thing trampled underfoot without consequence. For Diego, it was cause for celebration. After all, it had affirmed his predictions. It meant that Gyro had hit top speed and yet he still remained behind Diego.

   ‘He can’t catch up!’ Marian yelled upon noticing the unchanging distance between Gyro and Diego.

   They were so close and yet, the pace remained unchanging, or so it seemed. Mudsdale was just behind Sawsbuck.

   ‘Valkyrie the Mudsdale can’t go any faster! Gyro Zeppeli can’t shorten his distance!’

   After keeping pace for a few moments, Mudsdale began to falter. It was unable to keep pace with the Sawsbuck. The distance, once small, began to length between them.

   ‘And now he’s slowing down with two hundred metres left! Both are feeling the strain from crossing the lake, but Dio is managing to stay ahead! It looks like fatigue is finally gaining on Gyro!’ Marian commentated.

   Worse yet, with the widening gap, Gyro was becoming vulnerable to attacks from behind. And another racer saw his opportunity to speed past him.

   ‘Pocoloco has just passed Gyro!’ yelled Marian.

  Now both trainer and mount were becoming agitated. He held tightly onto the PokeBall that did not belong to his trailing Linoone.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli is falling behind! Dot Han is coming up behind him, and is only half a mount’s length away!’

   The agitation came to fruition. Gyro breathed in hard and he activated the Spin. He was able to allow his flesh clamp around the steel PokeBall and wring him dry of sweat. It was hard on him as he dried out but it would lighten his weight. After all, the human body was about seventy percent water and he was still sopping wet from his dip in the lake which all added to the unnecessary weight. He grinned as he sweated out the excess. This was his secret plan.

   ‘C’mon Valkyrie, show some Guts! We were called spoiled cowards, you’re not a coward, are ya, honey? With these steel PokeBalls I’ve inherited from my homeland, with them on our side, we will win!’ he encouraged Valkyrie in a low voice.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli is… sweating buckets out there?! His sweat is running off of him like rain on a window pane!’ Marian yelled a little bit of disgust tainted her voice.

   With the load lightened a little bit, strain on Mudsdale eased. It began to speed up once more.

   ‘Don’t count him out just yet: he’s coming! With eighty metres left, Gyro who had once fallen behind is accelerating once more!’

   Diego’s nose wrinkled and he glanced backwards.

   ‘Gyro finally takes over Dio!’ Marian screeched. ‘He takes the lead from Dio!’

   Diego glared as Gyro passed him. He was drenched in sweat; it dripped off him in sheets. It was disgusting. It was impossible. There shouldn’t have been anyway in which he was able to pass Diego. There was no way he should have been able to exceed his limit. The fatigue should have set in by now, and it had!

   It was time for Diego to hatch a secret plan of his own. He let go of one rein, as discreetly as he could. He fingers curled back to his wrist and he tugged at the sleeve of his thick jumper. The cuff was curled over and embedded in it, was a small rock that was rough and bumpy. He picked it out of the cuff and he glanced around. He had to make sure the trajectory was right where it would hit Mudsdale but it would not look suspicious.

   With a flick, he released the rock from his fingers. It skipped along the ground and jumped up. Diego quickly took back his rein and he didn’t feel as though he had caught attention but he was worried regardless as he had broken a rule and it didn’t bode overly well with him. The rock grazed Mudsdale’s knee and cut it. Blood dripped and the Mudsdale began to wobble as it had been hit.

   ‘Mudsdale is losing balance!’ Marian yelped.

   The finishing line came ever closer.

   ‘Thirty metres… Ten metres!’

   Gyro and Mudsdale were headed for a collision with the ground. Diego raced past confidently, unaffected, but there was a surprise third entrant to the top tier of the racers.

   ‘Goal!’ Marian yelled. ‘Goal! Johnny Joestar! It’s Johnny Joestar!’

   Johnny breathed heavily as his Zebstrika slowed. It had been a sudden splurge of energy but he had claimed the lead in a surprise, last second attack. Even Diego was stunned by the turn of events. He had been so focused on Gyro, he hadn’t noticed Johnny approach.

   The next round of racers came through. There was a half-hearted slowing. After all, the goal had been met. Marian’s voice boomed out across them all.

   ‘What a turn of events! The order is Johnny Joestar, Diego Brando, then Gyro Zeppeli! Followed by Pocoloco and running in is Sandman! Dot Han, Baba Yaga, Mack the Knife, and Gaucho who fell behind!

   There was a pause and what followed was Marian’s voice wrinkled by concern: ‘There was an incident right before the goal where Diego Brando stepped on a small rock, which happened to hit Gyro’s mount, and during this time, the two racers lost their balance in this incident.’

   Diego tried to remain neutral. Gyro fumed. Johnny felt blameless; it was an opportunity, after all.

   ‘It was because of this incident, Johnny Joestar was able to claim the lead. It has been deemed an accident. It was only a chance that Diego Brando stepped on that rock. There is no proof it was intentional. Therefore, Diego Brando will not be disqualified and Gyro Zeppeli will not lose a medical visit as it was an accident.’

   Johnny strayed from Gyro’s vicinity. He could tell now wasn’t a good time. There as a ferocious anger in Gyro’s eyes. He didn’t want to frustrate Gyro further. He needed some time and space.

   Gyro and his mount wandered off to side, uninterested in Johnny anyway. Gyro dismounted and sat by Mudsdale’s legs. Mudsdale was still bleeding. It was a deep cut. Gyro didn’t want the medical team involved anyway so he called his Linoone to his side who faithfully returned his belongings, now slobbered on though.

   His shoulders burned and he felt dry as Route Thirteen from his homeland. He was ragged and breathing deeply. As he fumbled with his supplies for his Mudsdale, his thoughts wandered back to what Johnny had said. He was possibly right.

   ‘A hunger more than Dio, huh?’ he mused as he examined the bandages and antiseptic spray he had. ‘And maybe even more than you Johnny. You’re trying to find all the Dragon Stones, after all. That’s what you want more than anything.’

   He sighed and his shoulders slackened. His Mudsdale lowered its head and nudged him slightly. The thoughts of Johnny didn’t spill out with being shaken.

   ‘You’re hungering for it too… You want it no matter what.’ Gyro mused as he finally acknowledged his Mudsdale by nudging its head so that it didn’t lick its wound.

   Mudsdale lifted its head and allowed Gyro to bandage it but he still muttered beneath his breath about Johnny. It was like he was in a daze. Though he were looking at the off-white of a bandage and the brown of Mudsdale’s hair, all he could see truly before him was the echo of Johnny’s appearance; how he remembered him.

   ‘Maybe I should follow your example, Johnny.’ Gyro decided. ‘Maybe seriously searching for these Dragon Stones of Unova’s might help me grow a little.’

   His Linoone grumbled, disliking that Mudsdale was getting most of Gyro’s fragmented attention. Upset, it clambered into Gyro’s lap. Gyro didn’t mind. He paused and scratched behind his Linoone’s ear. It cooed and closed its eyes for him; in mockery of sleep. With it content, Gyro could continue to relax after this stressful heat of the Third Stage.

   Having been left to his own devices for post-race entertainment, Johnny had decided to wait out for the rolling out of the latest news on the nearby bulletin. So, he could see the updated scores and whatnot but the lull in developments had seemingly softened him. Just before he could get a chance to read it for himself, Marian was already describing the updates over the airwaves.

   ‘At this point, the Fourth Stage had already begun! Johnny Joestar is the one to have conquered the dead heat battle just now, but an hour ago, Hot Pants had already passed through the finish line into first place!’ Marian announced.

   Shock permeated all the listeners.

   ‘What the…? Already passed the finishing line…?’ Gyro murmured, dazed and confused as he looked around for this seemingly illusory Trainer but the name rang a bell.

   ‘Therefore the placements for the third stage are as listed on the chart: Hot Pants receives this stage’s bonuses: an extra medical visit, cash incentive, a shaved loss, and, of course, one hundred points!’ Marian concluded.

   Then, in the distance, Gyro spotted the smug son of a bitch. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Trainer wearing offensively pink clothes and was dressed for the colder months. He rode a Bouffalant.

   With that, Gyro decided that another antagonist had entered his, and Johnny’s, midst.


	33. VS TRAINER HOT PANTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Gyro antagonise Hot Pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter two people: to all those Hot Pants fans in the comments and to @moodyblues-requiem on tumblr who drew really cute fanart: https://moodyblues-requiem.tumblr.com/post/172506047333/so-steel-pokeball-run-huh-plushie-tusk  
> (I don't know how to hyper link sorry)

   The Fourth Stage spanned from Roshan Town to the centre of the Entralink all the way to Nimbasa City. Nimbasa City was a place of celebration. Many hailed from the joyous area. A place quite contrary to the middle ground which marked it which was the Entralink. The Entralink is a place which is revered as being quite strange. It is difficult to navigate and not for the faint of heart. Even wild Pokémon have been known to avoid it. Nonetheless, the Trainers undergoing the Steel Ball Run race are expected to penetrate it if they are to check off the next checkpoint, and consequently find Valentine’s chosen Trainer as well.

   The approximate distance was worth days of riding; at least twenty-one days by professional calculation. Also, at this point of the gargantuan race, one thousand, nine hundred, and eighteen people remained as competitors. The number of drop-outs being up at five hundred and fifty-one. And the worst was still to come so numbers were guaranteed to change.

   With there being plenty of daylight and not a cloud in the sky, it seemed an ideal day for riding. The outskirts of Roshan were mild and gentle. Fields which slowly were eaten by a forest unforgiving. As was the appearance of the menacing Entralink.

   Today was the eleventh day of the fourth stage. As Gyro and Johnny ventured along a wide dirt path, beaten by the wheels of wagons and the hooves of exploratory mounts of yonder, they came across a most curious thing: a slab of hanging meat. With a rope twisted around both its leg and a branch, it swayed slightly in the breeze. Given the quality of it, it was freshly cut and would have once belonged to a handsome Miltank, had it been alive still. It looked a treat after days of skimpy foods such as thin stew with bread and butter.

   However, such goods did not go unprotected. It was small, subtle perhaps, as it bore an unusual pockmark. Upon a flank, initials were carved with a personalised brand: H.P with flourishes like arrowheads.

   Johnny looked around, scanned their surroundings. The H.P was likely close. He saw a house nearly hidden by an orchard and hills ahead. The other way, upon a third path that converged with both the road to the house and the road Johnny and Gyro, had been travelling, came a person riding upon a Bouffalant.

   ‘Look Gyro, it’s him.’ Johnny stated. ‘He’s coming this way.’

   Gyro seemed to acknowledge Johnny with a grunt. He flicked the brim of his holey hat with his thumb as he joined Johnny in the look towards their encroaching company.

   Johnny brought his telescope to his face. He was certain he knew the identity of the one who approached: the bastard who had stolen first place from him before, Hot Pants. A H.P to match the brand on the meat, too.

   ‘Well… the hell does he want?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Dunno. He’s a loner.’ Johnny replied. ‘He’s currently sitting at one hundred and fifty-five points. No badges, of course. That puts him in third place. He’s Unovan; real name and age’re unknown, though. Same for any real information on him, either. But I’ll tell you this, the way he rides isn’t the work of an amateur. And the way he carries himself? He ain’t a hillbilly.’

   ‘What should we do? Should we talk to him?’ Gyro asked.

   ‘Nah, let’s just ignore him for the meantime.’ Johnny nodded.

   Hot Pants continued to ride in closer. There was a demeanour about him which demonstrated that he meant business: calm and determined. A terrifying combination. Atop the back of his Bouffalant, his strength seemed supported and his intimidation became more meaningful.

   He pulled up a few metres away from Gyro and Johnny. Their mounts seemingly displeased by the arrival of a rival. From this distance, Gyro and Johnny got a good look at Hot Pants and his features: his broad shoulders and pink bob cut. He was a strange medium in build, compared to both Gyro and Johnny. What’s more is that the shoulder of his Bouffalant bore the same brand as the hanging meat.

   Hot Pants glared at Gyro and Johnny. After establishing his enigmatic and unerring eye contact between the two of them, Hot Pants silently threw out some ropes. They linked around the tree and two nooses were formed.

   Then, at long last, he spoke: ‘Good day to you both.’

   An unusual thing to say when framed by the hanging of two nooses. Moreover, he spoke factually with a calculated voice.

   ‘Let’s skip the chit-chat and get straight to the point. I will now be hanging you both from this tree.’ Hot Pants informed them.

   Gyro and Johnny did not react immediately. Had it not been for the physical threat, it was possible that this was a joke amiss, too wry and too sarcastic to be funny.

   ‘You ate from my Miltank, did you not?’ he asked, in pretence of fairness of trial, perhaps. ‘I paid good money for this Miltank so that I may eat well throughout this arduous journey. The penalty for Pokémon theft, specifically the theft of agricultural Pokémon, is hanging. That is the law of this place.’

   Johnny glanced at the brand on the Bouffalant and the brand on the hanging meat.

   Memories of an argument moments before fluttered back to mind: the argument of Gyro wanting to take the meat for himself against Johnny’s observations of ownership.

   The mention of laws was more than enough to get Gyro going. He raised his hands in surrender and to bolster his argument for his life, he made sure to make no effort to hide his Kalosian accent.

   ‘Laws? Hold on, I am not of this country. I do not know ze laws.’ Gyro rambled in mockery of his own country’s tongue, even, in order to garner pity or reasonable doubt.

   Hot Pants straightened his back. In Johnny’s opinion, he thought Gyro had no earned any sympathy for the situation, but Hot Pants was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. His shoulders slackened slightly, and he produced a PokeBall.

   ‘Well then, this ought to be a good enough symbol of goodwill as any: a law present across many lands is that the victor writes the history. Our eyes have met, it is time to do battle.’ Hot Pants said. ‘A double battle, ought to suffice since you are both criminals in my eyes.’

   Hot Pants tossed forth a pair of PokeBalls. From silvery flashes, a Throh and Wigglytuff were sent forward. An unusual combination, when side-by-side as they were.

   Johnny and Gyro took a glance at each other as they fumbled with their own PokeBalls. Half-formed words on their lips silently fell awkwardly.

   ‘Go, go, Heartbreaker!’ Gyro yelled as he threw forward one of his steel PokeBalls.

   ‘Hypnotised!’ Johnny shouted.

   In high arcs, their PokeBalls flew. From red flashes, came their Nidoking and Meowstic respectively to counter Wigglytuff and Throh.

   Johnny cocked a self-assured smirk to himself for it appeared that he had the first turn, he pointed to Throh then instructed his Meowstic: ‘Use Psyshock, Hypnotised!’

   Hot Pants struck out his hand in seeming objection, ‘Funky Drummer, use Dark Pulse!’

   ‘Huh?’ Gyro exclaimed.

   From his estimations, Throh should not be able to move ahead of Meowstic. Moreover, it should not be able to use “Dark Pulse” like Hot Pants had instructed. Then, something bizarre happened. Twice, Gyro was proven wrong. First, Throh was able to out-speed Meowstic. Second of all, it was able to use Dark Pulse.

   Throh lumbered towards Meowstic and unleashed a howl not akin to a growly, almost human-like voice at all. A malignant aura manifested around it in sludgy clumps of purple and black. The aura was seemingly hurled at Meowstic who sustained much damage because of it. Meowstic was barely hanging on at all because of the super-effective attack.

   Meowstic chattered, in agony, then released its revenge. Its ears unfurled and the organs at their base glowed, as did Meowstic’s eyes. A psychic aura was shot forward in ribbons of eerie, magenta light. And as a result of its attack, a third bizarre thing happened in this battle. Throh did not take damage. It was utterly unfazed by it, even.

   ‘What?’ Johnny sputtered in disbelief as his eyes opened wide.

   Hot Pants smirked.

   ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it, Johnny, I’ll cover you. Heartbreaker! Use Poison Jab on that Wigglytuff!’ Gyro yelled.

   As expected of a Pokémon borne in the power of the Spin, Gyro’s Nidoking’s Poison Jab proved to be both unusual and devastatingly powerful. The poison sludge that exploded along his Nidoking’s arm was thick and spiralled. It spun around its arm as it lunged forth, towards Wigglytuff, with a great punch.

   Wigglytuff took the attack head-on. It sustained a fair bit of damage, but it was able to tough out the attack. It bore a determined glint in its eyes. Other than that, it was like a normal battle.

   ‘It’s Magic, use Flamethrower on Meowstic!’ Hot Pants instructed.

   His Wigglytuff ballooned upon command. It sucked in a great, big breath of air and when it released, it became a powerful blast. It was like standing before an open furnace. The fire was extreme and brilliant in colour. Meowstic was unable to avoid the damage, and thus, took the attack head-on.

   Meowstic basked in the heat. Unable to bear the attack, with a yowl, it dropped to its knees and Johnny had no choice but to recall his Pokémon.

   ‘I will not permit switching out.’ Hot Pants stated as he saw Johnny’s fingers twitch over a PokeBall.

   He glanced at Hot Pants. He wasn’t fooling around but this was insane.

   ‘Don’t worry Johnny, I’ll work out what’s happening.’ Gyro said.

   Since the end of the third stage, he had been working out the kinks in developing a new technique assisted by the Dragon Stone embedded in his eye. Thus far, it was deciding consciously when the effect would and wouldn’t activate. A cross-like design rose upon Gyro’s skin and that meant, he was now using its effect.

   With it, he could see all. Nothing could hide, and deceptions would come loose. Gyro made an odd noise.

   ‘I understand this battle now. That explains it.’ He mused to himself.

   ‘Huh? What do you mean?’ Johnny asked.

   His reply was that annoying laugh of Gyro’s.

   ‘Hm? You understand what not?’ Hot Pants asked, possibly not noticing the change in Gyro. ‘No matter, this battle is mine to win: Funky Drummer, use Grass Knot.’

   His Throh swung its arm through the air. At its movement, it was able to control the blades of grass beneath them all. The blades which surrounded Nidoking lengthened and became as pliant and strong as ropes. They bound Nidoking’s arms and with a great tug, brought the creature to its belly. It's body smashing against the ground.

   The grass released it and Nidoking chuffed. It rose to its feet, slowly.

   ‘Use Rock Smash.’ Gyro said with a wink towards Johnny.

   Nidoking surged forward. With a punch that did not have any flourish, it struck Throh. Despite it being a weak, non-effective attack, Hot Pants’ Throh sustained dramatic damage. Throh howled and something strange happened. A façade dissipated in a crystalline splash of silver and white. An illusion was broken, and the truth made its appearance. Throh was not a Throh after all. Hot Pants’ “Funky Drummer” was, in actuality, a Zoroark.

   ‘Urgh, Escape-ism, are you alright?’ Hot Pants asked, fuming and irritated.

   Gyro clucked.  

   ‘Satisfied that you’ve revealed my own “deception”, are you? Very well. I shall recall my Wigglytuff given that I’ve already picked off your partner’s Meowstic.’ Hot Pants said.

    Then, in the name of seeming fairness, he recalled his Wigglytuff. Now, it had become a usual battle between him and Gyro, like a duel. Though, the turn did remain with Hot Pants given that his Zoroark was faster than Gyro’s Nidoking.

   ‘Escape-ism, use Night Slash.’ Hot Pants instructed.

   Zoroark’s claws shone like stars in the deep night. An energy pulsated off of them. With feral scratching, Zoroark attacked the air in front of it and the energy slid off it in razor slices which flew through the air.

   Nidoking sustained the damage but it did not affect it. It raised its arms to guard itself but other than that, it did not appear to have taken much damage. A guttural growl emanated from the bottom of its throat.

   Hot Pants sighed and returned his Zoroark. He hastily stuffed his PokeBall into a brown bag on his waist.

   ‘You two make for an odd pair, I have decided.’ he said. ‘I have some respect for the way in which you battle. But, you did eat my Miltank so I’m not going to apologise for ending this battle improperly, but I do believe there is a foregone conclusion which ought to suffice in regard to the rules of the handbook.’

   Hot Pants took the reins into his hands. ‘Giddy up.’ he told his Bouffalant.

   The two of them strode off. Johnny and Gyro watched. Bitterly, Gyro returned his Nidoking to its PokeBall.

   ‘Oi, Hot Pants!’ Johnny called out.

   The Bouffalant halted. Hot Pants twisted around slightly. ‘Yes?’ he called out.

   ‘Are we enemies in this race?’ he asked. ‘You said you have respect for the way we battle… We’ve learned that can be jack shit.’

   ‘No. Merely acquaintances. So long as you do not continue to get on my bad side, I have no interest in pursuing you as either “friends” or “enemies”.’ Hot Pants answered. ‘Are there others whom you have crossed?’

   Gyro and Johnny elected to not answer that question. Hot Pants accepted their silence as an answer and chose to create meaning from it for himself. He chose to believe that their silence meant that there was no further conversation to be had, so continued to leave.

   Gyro spat on the ground with a scowl across his face. ‘I would have won. That’s what he meant by “foregone conclusion.”

   Johnny didn’t know if he was saying that to convince him or himself.

   ‘Hm, I don’t think Hot Pants knows about the Dragon Stones.’ Johnny said in a quiet voice, abruptly changing the topic of conversation; which was for the better given that Gyro’s pride had been apparently injured.

   ‘What makes you say that?’ Gyro asked, sceptical.

   ‘Well, he doesn’t vibe me as an enemy.’ Johnny replied in earnest.

   ‘Pfft, you were sayin’ the same thing about Diego after his and Doctor Ferdinand’s family fued.’ Gyro pointed out.

   ‘Yeah, but that’s different. Diego is definitely an enemy, still. It’s just, Hot Pants doesn’t seem like a terrorist or allied with the government. Loner, remember? And look at those social skills.’ Johnny explained.

   ‘Maybe. Anyway, one thing is for sure, that Hot Pants… I hate his guts. He rubs me the wrong way.’ Gyro decided, petulantly, then for good measure, he yelled: ‘ALSO! By the time we got here, some bloody Mandibuzz had eaten most of your stupid Miltank anyway!’

   Gyro then turned his body back to Johnny. He pointed at Johnny’s chest and a fearsome scowl was donned upon his thick brows. There was a fierce look in his eyes.

   ‘I also want it on record that I have a way better knack for naming than that asshole. Okay? Because I know what you’re thinking.’ Gyro snapped.

   ‘I’m not thinking anything.’ Johnny replied. It sounded like a lie but there was no proof either way.

   ‘I know exactly what your thinking because you are a sarcastic little shit at times.’ Gyro asserted.

   Johnny rolled his eyes. Gyro huffed but it was obvious he was still suspicious of Johnny’s thoughts on that topic. But, satisfied with that, Gyro was now able to move on. Together, he and Johnny continued down the path they had been riding on the backs of their mounts.


	34. VS TRAINER RINGO ROADAGAIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo Roadagain engages his trespassers in peculiar duels.

   As they continued to move down the road, Gyro’s head cooled, and he was able to remember something that he had forgotten in the thick of his hot-headedness and supposed hatred towards Hot Pants.

   He looked towards Johnny with a strange expression. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, ‘when I was using the Spin Scan and checking out his Zoroark, I had an epiphany of sorts. Things don’t always look how they seem, yeah?’

   ‘Well, yeah. Zoroark has the Illusion Ability, after all.’ Johnny agreed, wondering where this was leading too.

   ‘Well, it got me thinking. Turbo. In old Kalosian, it can mean “cyclone”. But, there aren’t any “cyclones” on the map. Or anything named Turbo, like a mountain or a lake or constellation, but, then it occurred to me that maybe the meaning of the word “turbo” isn’t the clue and that maybe it’s showing us a location through these characters.’ Gyro explained.

   ‘That sounds super farfetched, dude, but let’s keep rolling with it, alright. Say your right, continue.’ Johnny said.

   ‘See,’ Gyro began.

   ‘No, I don’t “see” actually. That’s your shtick.’ Johnny interrupted for no purpose other than to annoy Gyro.

   ‘Okay, well,’ Gyro continued through gritted teeth, ‘there are designs inside the lettering of “Turbo” on my eye. Maybe they’re not decorations as they are composed of sticks, or ones, and circles, or zeroes. Like a binary system. If we assign this to the decimal system, then numbers will correspond differently. Here, gimme a minute so I can write this out.’

   Gyro paused his explanation. He got out a pencil and a notepad. He scratched away at the paper and turned his theory to calculations. He showed Johnny and seemed like mumbo-jumbo to him; though, Gyro’s handwriting was quite nice, if a little bit loopy. Like him.

   ‘Look it up on the map for me, will ya.’ Gyro said.

   The map made shuffled noises as Johnny unfurled it. Gyro glanced at him then continued.

   ‘Here, I’ll read it: the “T” in the beginning means horizontal in old Kalosian. So, North thirty-nine-six. “B” means West ninety-four-forty-six. Where do those numbers meet?’ Gyro asked.

   Johnny’s eyes widened. ‘Nimbasa City.’ he replied, almost excitedly but there was something tinging his voice and twisting it.

   ‘Then that is the location of the next Dragon Stone.’ Gyro confirmed, serious as a grave.

   A part of Johnny refused to believe it. ‘But could an old traveller, the one who scattered the Dragon Stones, to begin with, even know these longitudes and latitudes?’ he asked.

   ‘Numbers have a constant quality to them,’ Gyro rationalised, ‘or it could be something like prophecy.’

   ‘Dio.’ Johnny gasped. ‘Will he realise this too given his left eye?’

   ‘Unless he’s a lazy idiot, but that’s probably not the case. So, we should probably anticipate that he’s come to the same conclusion as us. However, the terrorists don’t have this clue… unless Diego kissed and made-up with his uncle. Regardless, our goal remains the same: to finish this race in first place and to acquire the Badge for it.’ Gyro replied decisively.

   ‘Nimbasa City it is then; to the next Dragon Stone.’ Johnny replied, firm in voice and contrary to his panic from before.

   After this epiphany, the pair picked up the pace once more. Around and around they went, traversing the hills and the paths. The Entralink was a bizarre place. It all seemed so eerily the same long these downtrodden, dirt roads winding through the thick forest. It was nearly symmetrical. Everything has a quality of familiarity.

   Even the farmhouses. Which was odd, given from afar only the one could be seen, and yet many had been passed. All seemingly built the same way: wooden bungalows with tilted roofs… even down the quirks like a broken window and the mailbox.

   ‘Hey, Gyro…’ Johnny said as he scanned their surroundings.

   ‘Yeah?’ Gyro asked, matching pitch with the unison suspicion in his voice. ‘Do you think we’ve been here before?’

   ‘Uh, yeah Gyro, I think we have… look.’ Johnny said, he sounded beyond astonished as he pointed out a very intriguing landmark.

   Gyro’s eyes followed direction and even his jaw slackened. A slab of hanging meat – a Miltank – loomed off the branch of a tree. It bore the signature of Hot Pants. There could be no mistaking it.

   ‘This is bad, this is so bad. How did we get lost on a single path road?’ Johnny asked.

   Gyro whipped out his compass and was astounded by the results. ‘What the…?’ he breathed as he watched the compass spin about like a drunken dancer. He looked up from it and barked at Johnny: ‘Let me see the map!’

   He then, panickily, spent the next few moments trying to retrace their steps. It was seemingly unbelievable, but they had been going around in circles.

   ‘Let’s try something else then.’ Gyro commanded.

   Over and over galloped around the area to little avail. It all led back to one place, no matter what they did, they returned over and over to the house and to the meat. It was impossible. A maze of decisions with no bearing on anything. They were even beginning to follow in their own footsteps. It was minutes upon minutes wasted and that would all build to a mess of time.

   Gyro clutched at his forehead as he examined the map. He could feel sweat on his brow and he could hear Johnny pant beside him.

   ‘It must be a trick of some sort. Oi, local, you tell me: this area known for magnetic mishaps?’

   ‘No… Spiriting away, perhaps, but not this.’ Johnny replied, nervous.

   ‘Fuck, Johnny, don’t tell me your pagan-ass thinks this is, like, divine punishment.’ Gyro growled.

   ‘I’m not pagan.’ Johnny corrected him, frustrated. ‘And I was gonna say, maybe it’s a trick of a different sort. What if hot Pants is messing with us or something?’

   ‘Nah, this has to be the work of something else. A trickster Pokémon perhaps…?’ Gyro guessed. ‘What the hell is this?’  

   ‘Are you two lost as well?’

   A third voice pierced the conversation.

   Gyro groaned. Hot Pants had arrived.

   He appeared through a glad and circled in closer. He seemed as haughty as ever: shoulders back and an authorial glare in his eyes.

   ‘Don’t come any closer! For all we know, this could be the work of you and your fuck-ass Zoroark or some shit.’ Gyro spat.

   ‘I can assure you, this is no deception of mine. I’m just as lost as you are.’ Hot Pants told them. He came closer. ‘I’ve been wandering these trails for an hour to no avail. How long have to been unable to leave?’

   He produced a compass of his own from his thick, outer coat. ‘I had thought, at first, my compass malfunctions could be explained by the fact the Ganlon Berries in these manmade orchards contain a lot of iron here, but I don’t believe that is correct. No matter what I do, I return to this spot. Is that not the same for you?’

   ‘We don’t trust you, Hot Pants.’ Johnny stated. ‘How do we do know you’re not tracking us?’

   ‘It would serve me no purpose.’ Hot Pants replied. ‘My tracks are just as scrambled and confused as yours. Our paths have crossed for the area in which we are lost is somewhat small. After all, it only takes about twenty minutes to loop around, over and over.’

   ‘Just get more lost than. Leave us alone.’ Gyro shouted. ‘We ain’t gonna come to trust you any time soon.’

   ‘Alright, then I shall be the first to trust you two then. You two aren’t bad people. I like to think I am a good judge of character and you two seem more… righteous, I suppose you would say, than others I’ve encountered in this race thus far.’ Hot Pants said.

   ‘Righteous?’ Gyro echoed quietly and threw a funny, facetious look to Johnny.

   ‘I don’t know how to describe it, alright. All I know is that if I thought you to be bad people, you would be dead already.’ Hot Pants countered.

   ‘The hell is he talking about, Johnny.’ Gyro continued to grumble, as though Hot Pants were absent.

   ‘We’re all lost, Gyro. So, maybe, we should work together to get out of this situation.’ Johnny said. ‘I told you before, I don’t think he is an enemy.’

   Gyro was still abrasively against the idea. ‘Tell him to eat shit, Johnny.’

   ‘Tell him yourself.’ Johnny sighed, he hoped that if Gyro could just get over himself for two minutes, then maybe they could progress somehow.

   Gyro turned back to Hot Pants. He cupped his mouth with his hands and on the top of his lungs, he yelled: ‘EAT SHIT, ASSHOLE! And fall of your mount!’

   Hot Pants glared across the road. Even he was becoming increasingly grated by Gyro’s petulant antics.

   ‘Aren’t we looking for the same path? Let’s cooperate for just that long.’ he said, exasperated.

   Now it was Gyro’s turn to sigh. He pointed to himself. ‘Let’s say we both trust you, what’s in it for us if we cooperate?’

   Hot Pants removed a bundle from his bags and tossed it towards Gyro and Johnny. Johnny was the one to catch it and immediately noted that the cloth was warm in his palms.

   ‘I’ll let you have some quality food.’ Hot Pants said.

   Johnny opened the bundle and Gyro leaned in closer. In his hands, thickly cut sandwiches sat. After days of scrappy meals, the sandwiches were practically gourmet. Onions, Miltank, and some sort of sauce on crusty sourdough. It was mouth-watering.

   Johnny looked up: ‘Is this what he eats all the time?’

   ‘I can assure you, there is no poison. This is an act of goodwill.’ Hot Pants said. ‘Now, that aside, let’s ask for directions. That house of yonder appears inhabited, surely that person will be acquainted with the layout of the land here.’

   Hot Pants pointed towards the house. It appeared tightly locked but the window closest to the door was cracked. The curtains behind the panes were slightly parted but it the interior was dark. At its chimney, pale curls of smoke wafted up. Someone was, likely, home.

   ‘Let’s ask that person for directions.’ Hot Pants advised.

   He went to charge forth but from shrubbery in front of him, a fourth person arrived. He was not a man either of the three recognised immediately.

   ‘Son of a bitch!’ the man yelled as his Rapidash shook off leaves from its flank. ‘This place again?’

   He turned his head to the others. He pointed. Underneath his hat, there was fear in his eyes and sweat on his brow. His finger became shaky.

   ‘Don’t tell me… you guys’re lost too?’ he asked.

   ‘Hey, hey, hey…’ Gyro mumbled.

   ‘Wait… This guy is Gaucho. He finished tenth in the third stage.’ Johnny said.

   Gaucho veered away from them. He sent a glare towards the house. ‘That son of a bitch again!’ he cussed. ‘Always at the door, always by that damn curtain! I’ve asked him over and over, how to get out of his orchard and each time, he says: “You’ll find your way out if you kill me.” That’s it!’ Gaucho got off his Rapidash and a hand hovered by his belt where he had a gun holster. ‘I’ll give him what he wants!’

   Gaucho began to approach the door. The curtain fluttered and now, the curtain fell across the last gap in the window pane.

   ‘I’ll shoot you dead, just as you wish!’ Gaucho screamed, maniacal. ‘Show yourself coward!’

   Johnny, Gyro, and Hot Pants all had a very bad feeling about this but, it did not appear as though they had the capacity to act on the impulse.

   The door to the house opened and from its darkened depths, a somewhat young man appeared but, his age was hard to be determined due to the soulful look in his eyes and his silver hair. He dressed youthfully though; toned belly and cleavage exposed. With a newspaper in his left hand, he hovered on his porch. He bowed. Then, as he raised his head. He found a voice.

   ‘Then, I humbly suggest, we begin.’

   He had a curiously soft voice. He placed his newspaper on a table next to his door. He had a peculiar presence: strangely serene, and even courteous. Gaucho began to shake.

   ‘D-Don’t fuck with me!’ he warned. ‘If you want to be killed so badly… I’ll do it! This is your last chance! Tell me the real path to get out of here!’

   He began to walk down. He held himself regally, but he bore no arrogance in such a demeanour.

   ‘I’m no liar…’ he drawled. ‘But, if you want to call me that, I don’t mind. There is only one correct path. If you want to get out of here, you must kill me. That is the path that must be taken. A decision that must be made eventually.’

   He spoke as grave as the dead, as solemn as a cemetery. The truth of his presence became known. He was a man intimately familiar with death and its gravity, its severity, and he had come to accept it.

   And as such, he was a terrifying man.

   ‘Is that what I think it is? Gyro?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘Wait, Johnny, I don’t really understand the whole of this situation yet.’ Gyro confessed.

   The man was as still as a statue, save for his left arm which quivered by his belt. He bore two sets of deaths: a gun and a string of miniaturised PokeBalls.

   ‘Your hands… Ha! Your hands are shaking!’ Gaucho guffawed.

   ‘Yes, you are right. It is, perhaps, fear. Or, it could be the result of excessive strain against oneself.’ He paused as his eyes fell upon Gaucho’s gun. ‘A decision must be made. That gun on your hip is a Colt 1873. Allow me to speak of something equally important, with this much distance between us, our bullets will be unlikely to hit their targets. I need you to take five more steps in this direction. Although I am in your range, the distance will cause your bullets to hit approximately ten centimetres to the right. It will take you five more steps to accurately hit me. Your chances of hitting me are limited if you stand as you are.’

   Gaucho paused to evaluate this enigmatic man’s calculations.

   ‘What will it be? Were you lying when you said you would shoot me?’ he asked, icy as ever.

   Silence followed as decisions were in the process of being made. A very dangerous duel was about to be taken.

   Hot Pants glanced at Gyro and Johnny. ‘You two…’ he said, grabbing their attention. ‘This looks serious.’

   ‘It’s your decision.’ the man continued. ‘But, in that case, it would make you the liar. Not me.’

   ‘I can’t stand this any longer!’ Gaucho yelled as he ripped his Colt from its holster.

   The man calmly removed his own. Gaucho clicked off the safety and fired, before the man even had a chance to aim. The bullet tore through his shoulder. Blood spurted. He crashed against his deck. His arm flailed. Gaucho screamed. He pursued like a crazed hunter. More bullets were fired.

   The man did not make a noise as he lifted his gun. He aimed. He fired. Gaucho was shot. It was a perfect wound to his chest, a perfect killing. Gaucho crumpled in on himself as he bled. The smoking guns polluted the air.

   ‘No way…’ Johnny gasped.

   The man got up. Gaucho clutched at his wounds. Perhaps, he was still alive. Not quite dead. Not as perfect as a killing as it had initially appeared.

   ‘Five steps.’ the man repeated himself. ‘From this distance, the shots are accurate, but they lack power. The resistance of the chest bones and muscles slowed the bullets down. And though it reached the heart, it didn’t destroy it completely.’

   The man drew in closer. Gaucho was bleeding from his mouth and not just his wound. He was in great agony. The man offered no compassion. He was clinically calm.

   ‘One more step and…’ he mused to himself.

   ‘You… y-’ Gaucho sputtered. ‘So… hot! How dare you!’

   The man raised his gun once more and shot once more.

   ‘Hey, you, stop it!’ Gyro yelled but his protests came a little too late.

   The man’s serenity appeared to have worn off on him. His arm shook once more, and he held disdain for his own actions as there was repulsion in his eyes as they fell over the sight of his gun; not the body. He took a breath and bowed.

   ‘I thank you for the fight.’

   He drew back then returned his house.

   Whether it was remorse or courtesy in his voice, was unknown. Either way, Gyro was disgusted, and Johnny was petrified. Hot Pants was utterly unreadable.

   ‘Bloody hell… Who was that guy? He murdered that guy – that Trainer – like it was no problem.’ Johnny rambled.

   ‘Murder?’ Hot Pants inquired. ‘None of that was against the law. He is likely uninvolved in this race so none of those rules applied to this situation.’

   Revolted, Gyro lifted his head and turned towards Hot Pants. ‘You really don’t give a shit, do you?’ he asked. ‘Lawfulness is not necessarily the only path to justice.’

   Gyro readied his reins. He turned to Johnny and continued to talk: ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here. We can’t stay here forever.’

   His Mudsdale kicked off and Johnny followed along close behind. Hot Pants turned away from them. But there was little else to go. It was just the one path to follow so Hot Pants continued along with them, despite the growing friction between them.

   With the compass inaccurate and footprints jumbled, Johnny was now resorting to a different method of tracking their movements through the orchard. He was systematically selecting trees and carving his initials on them. Gyro, meanwhile, was carefully selecting their course once more to make it impossible for them to remain on a circular path. One way or another, they were going to move past this stage of the forest.

   But, no matter what they did, the result was the same. They continued to return to the house belonging to the enigmatic killer. Again, and again, around they went and soon, they came to a startling conclusion. Many trees were marked with a “J” even though Johnny only had memory of marking a few of them. Instead, his graffiti was everywhere.

   Arguments between them began to come loose as they all inspected different trees marked with Johnny’s carvings. He couldn’t believe it. It had to be some sort of illusion, but it was all his handiwork, he was certain.

   Hot Pants turned around his Bouffalant and glared at the house. ‘Then I think it is clear who our enemy is then.’ he said.

   ‘Why did he even have a shoot-out with Gaucho to begin with? I don’t understand his motive.’ Gyro said as he readied himself to ride in the same direction as Hot Pants. ‘If he is an enemy, why would he want us to become lost?’

   ‘Then what do you propose we do, Gyro Zeppeli? Do you want to roam around here a bit more? If you want to go, that is fine, but I do not wish to wander anymore.’ A bloodthirsty look, a genuinely bloodthirsty look, fell across Hot Pants’ face. ‘That man told Gaucho, “You cannot leave until you kill me”… Yes? No? “Unless you kill me”, was it? What does he mean by that? I propose we ask him and find out.’

   Hot Pants eyed up Johnny and Gyro. ‘Then, once we find out, we will take him on: three against one. That should be a good plan, yes?’

   ‘I thought I told you, we don’t trust you.’ Gyro growled.

   ‘Gaucho was killed.’ Hot Pants stated. ‘This is no time to be talking about fairness or trust, this is about survival. We should do what we can that is of minimum risk to us.’

   ‘Gyro,’ Johnny said, seething, and there was a fierce and blazing look in his blues eyes, ‘if this keeps up, we’re gonna be here ‘til the sun sets. And we have to avoid that at all costs. I don’t know where Dio is at this time, but he will have a full day ahead of us if we continue to waste time. Dio will get to Nimbasa City before us. And I want anything, anything, but that.’

   Johnny glared at Gyro. Once more, his thoughts were impossible to discern. Johnny hoped though, no he thought that his and Gyro’s motives were aligned. They were both after the Dragon Stones, after all.

   ‘Here, listen, if we find that this man is our enemy,’ Hot Pants piped up, ‘we ambush him. You two will talk to him, if he is an enemy, I will attack from behind. You two shall attack from the front.’

   ‘The back?’ Johnny echoed, raising an eyebrow. ‘And how’re you gonna do that?’  

   ‘With my Cream Starter.’ Hot Pants replied.

   He produced a PokeBall from his purse. He clicked on it and from a bright light, a gloopy Ditto emerged; to Gyro’s displeasure.

   ‘Cream will hide among the tiles on the roof.’ Hot Pants said, and his Ditto transformed into a Pidove. ‘And, on my command, he will attack. Are you fine with that?’

   His Ditto flapped its wings and took the air. It seemed as uncertain as a newborn but, with each moment spent in the air, it gained confidence. It took off. They watched as it found a vantage point on the roof to watch from.

   ‘Now, go talk to him. Let’s get this over and done with.’ Hot Pants said.

   Johnny and Gyro rode forward. When they returned to the man’s yard, he was out front, and he was digging a grave for Gaucho. Gyro glanced at the transformed Pidove on the roof. It would appear that the man hadn’t noticed it.

   As his shovel ate into the ground, the man stopped. He turned around and kept his eyes low.

   ‘If we are to converse,’ the man began, ‘I would appreciate it if we did it one at a time. Would one of you perhaps take a few steps back? Perhaps out of earshot, even.’

   Gyro titled his head and bared his teeth. ‘Listen up, just answer our goddamn questions. Whatever you're trying to pull, we don’t care. Alright?’

   ‘If we are to engage in a shootout or even a Pokémon battle, you will not defeat me.’ The man said.

   When he spoke to Gyro, he kept his eyes low but then, he made a bold move. He made direct eye contact with Johnny.

   ‘However, if the gentleman on the left were to duel me, he would stand a chance. So, I would appreciate it, if you were the one to remove yourself from this conversation. I choose the gentleman on the left to converse with.’

   Gyro was shocked by this. Between he and Johnny, he thought himself the more capable man. Johnny was a professional in Pokémon battling, apparently, but had yet to see sufficient evidence past faded memories of his old glory days. Moreover, between the two of them, it was Gyro who had been groomed to be the killer. And yet, this man – this murderer – had chosen Johnny to be the one more bloodthirsty than he.

   ‘This is for your own good, step back.’ the man said, his voice implied apology. ‘Would you like to talk to me a bit more first? The gentleman on the left has what I like to call “Dark Determination”. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if he thought the situation called for it. But you are not the same way, you are of a different “nature”. So, move aside. That is my reason.’

   Johnny was uncomfortable by these revelations. He sat awkwardly. He didn’t know what to think of this. He’d never thought of taking someone else’s life before. He had been aghast to hear of the Zeppeli legacy, but, he would admit something dangerous. He would admit there was little he wouldn’t do to fulfil his own goals. Call him selfish, if you will but it is a true statement. Whether or not “murder” was outside of the acceptable, he did not know.

   Gyro glared. His hand twitched over his steel PokeBalls. Would he use them, or would he use his Pokémon…?

   ‘You are trying to decide upon a countermeasure, lest I attack you. That’s what has been ingrained in you. On a level of skill, no doubt, you are very talented… but mere self-defence will not be enough to defeat me.’ he explained as his hand began to go for his holstered gun. ‘Now, choose your weapon.’

   Gyro, deciding he couldn’t risk anyone being shot, he chose not to summon forth one of his Pokémon. He grabbed a PokeBall but flung it forward. The man accepted that as a weapon.

   It was a split-second decision and yet, it seemed like it had taken much more time than that. Gyro watched, in horror, as two things happened simultaneously. And yet, they contradicted each other. The first thing he saw, was the man taking injury as he had been slammed with a steel PokeBall. Gyro had seen the blood and the shocked face and the way his body was pushed backwards by the force. And yet, he saw a second thing take place simultaneously.

   He watched as the man was uninjured by the attack. He remained standing up straight with a neutral facial expression as the steel PokeBall phased right through him. It crashed into the house and that side of it crumpled slightly. The planks making up the walls bowed and even broke in places.

   And, because the man was unhindered, he was able to take his shot. He lifted his arm and he fired off his gun. Gyro was unable to avoid the attack. He was shot, and he was numbed. He couldn’t fathom what was happening; just that there were pain and blood and so many impossibilities going on. Being wounded didn’t attract his attention at all. Everything else, however, did.

   These two events cannot have taken place simultaneously. And yet, they had. It was impossible. It had to be a deception of some sort, much like the ever-looping orchard behind them.

   Gyro panted as he held onto himself. His eyes widened, and his teeth were bared. Ferity in his eyes as he tried to comprehend what had gone wrong. Johnny, meanwhile, was far calmer in this situation.

   ‘What do you want from us?’ he asked. ‘Are you a terrorist? Are you linked to the government?’

   The man bowed his head. ‘I apologise for the delay but allow me to introduce myself.’ He lifted his head up and his arms remained firm by his sides. ‘My name is Ringo Roadagain. I am a Pokémon Trainer. I specialise in steel types. I have been chosen by President Valentine as one of his esteemed Trainers. Should you defeat me, I will hand over the Purity Badge.’

   He paused but he did not produce a PokeBall. ‘This is my partner Mandom and please recognise it as such.’

   The door to his house behind him jostled slightly. Shyly, a bulky Pokémon revealed itself. It hovered behind Ringo.

   ‘Mandom is a very unique specimen among its species. It may look like a regular Klinklang, but I can assure you otherwise. Mandom exudes a magnetic field powerful enough to render compasses useless.’ Ringo explained.

   Hot Pants’ eyes lit up. That would certainly explain things.

   Ringo detached a PokeBall from his gaudy, white belt. ‘And this is my partner, Solidarity. I would, once more, appreciate it if you address it as such.’ he said.

   A howl resounded through the field. A howl that filled Johnny, Gyro, and Hot Pants with the same feeling one gets when hearing the chime of a church bell. They paused and from a bright light, Ringo’s next Pokémon was introduced to them: a Bronzong.

   ‘Using Solidarity’s powerful psychic powers, I am afforded six seconds, just six seconds: no less, no more. Six seconds. I can fool your minds into rejecting six seconds worth of actions and memories. Whilst you were on your mounts, all I had to do was convince you of a shift in time using Solidarity’s powers. That is why your intended turns turned you lost.’

   ‘What is your objective?’ Johnny asked. ‘What benefit do you get from detaining us here?’

   ‘I want you to kill me.’ he replied of simple voice. ‘A fair duel will allow me to grow as a person. Devoid of pettiness… A murder attempt with the darkest intentions. It will raise me to sacred heights. As I am now, I am incomplete as a human. Things that I must overcome. Divinity is a pursuit. And that is why I have not hidden anything from you; my Pokémon’s abilities, my objectives… I have no reason to lie.’

   He spoke like a pure preacher. He seemed untouched by corruption. Where most men were stricken with discord, he was cordial and concord. His eyes even seemed wet. Then, from his pockets in his pants, he then showed them another act of goodwill: the Purity Badge.

   It was such a small trinket, but it gleamed beautifully in the dappled sunlight. It was stick-thin and resembled the hands of a clock, but there were three spikes rather than the usual two. It was made of a pale grey mineral; perhaps silver, perhaps not but it was darling all the same. But it didn’t seem beautiful enough to wager a man’s life on.

   ‘I humbly request your cooperation. What will it be? The choice is yours to make.’ he said.

   Johnny’s eyes widened. His decision was that Ringo had to be insane. Or some sort of twisted joke but no such jape emanated from his serene presence. He was serious.

   ‘This world we live in, it seems that our values are heavily leaning towards spoiled indifference. Do you condemn it as backwards? This is the true man’s world.’

   ‘Hey! I want no part of this!’ Hot Pants yelled. ‘Let’s go, Gyro, Johnny! He’s obviously crazy. If we keep going slowly, surely, we can avoid our past mistakes. I’m not putting up with this anymore; I’m not indulging him any further! Screw the Badge; someone else can take it – if it’s real at all.’

   Hot Pants turned around. Ringo went to follow him, but Hot Pants’ Ditto lunged at him. It streaked through the air; part way, its transformation melted, and it went from an avian creature to a pile of pink gloop. It wrapped itself around Ringo’s arm and effectively disabled him.

   ‘Alright, Johnny, Gyro: I’ll leave the rest up to you!’ he yelled out.

   Ringo attempted to push the Ditto off his arm, but he failed. It was too malleable and soft. He glanced at his partner Pokemon. Mandom, his Klinklang, cried out and its gears whirred. In unison to it, his Bronzong lit up in a pale blue glow. The time shift, its psychic energies, permeated the field. All movements within it were now forfeit.

   There was a pause long enough to blink in and then it was as though life resumed again, nearly seamlessly. More seemingly impossible things were happening: Ringo was now free of Hot Pants’ Ditto’s grip.

   He sighed. ‘I will ask as many times as necessary. What do you choose? You will never be able to escape me unless you kill me.’

   He raised his hand and he shot Hot Pants’ arm. He gasped and sputtered. Blood gushed.

   Johnny met Ringo’s eyes, and there it was: the Dark Determination. It didn’t necessarily look like bloodlust. It looked as though a flame had been lit in Johnny’s eyes and it was to symbolise a hidden spring of tenacity. It was like mere determination but twisted. Selfish.

   Johnny made his decision unflinchingly. He didn’t just grab a PokeBall, he also grabbed the gun he had been stowing away, concealed poorly on his person because, most of the time, he was too scared to acknowledge it. Not right now. Even though it was dingy and mangled, he wanted to use it. Never before had he been in a battle like this; where he would fight using his own tools, and his Pokémon.

   Like a juggler, he used both his hands. He steadied his flimsy gun in one hand and he steadied a PokeBall in the other, but his multi-tasking slowed him. He couldn’t have done either as Ringo shot him first. And what a shot it was.

   Ringo was free of action; untouched by hesitation. He shot Johnny in the head. The bullet pierced the decorative horseshoe Johnny donned on his beanie and was just above his eye. He was stunned immediately. Johnny was flung back by the impact. He had the look of a man who was certain he was going to die; no time for thoughts or anything else. He crashed into the ground; a bloody mess.

   ‘Johnny!’ Gyro screamed. ‘N-No way!’

   Distracted by his attack on Johnny, Hot Pants tried to create an opportunity out of it. Hot Pants unfurled the rope on his waist and attempted to whip at Ringo, but Ringo was faster. With a swift and fluid movement, he gyrated himself around, so he may attack Hot Pants. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but it was more than enough to push Hot Pants back.

   Hot Pants took the bullet to his abdomen. The injury was dramatic and sent him flying. He smashed into the wooden railing of Ringo’s house. His body spasmed as he was ultimately knocked out in a cloud of smithereens and splinters.

   Now, it was just Gyro and Ringo. And it ignited something in Gyro.

   Even though Hot Pants had been wounded, possibly mortally so, it was, of course, Johnny who consumed Gyro’s attention. Seeing his body lie there, as though dead, made Gyro’s blood boil. There was no other way to put it. The sight of it caused adrenaline to churn through Gyro’s veins. He was panicked and slightly scared, but he was furious.

   ‘Johnny!’ Gyro screamed once more.

   His voice pierced his own emotions and he found his clarity: vengeance.

   ‘I accept your challenge, Roadagain!’ Gyro yelled. ‘Go, go, Jailbreak!’

   His PokeBall flung forward. It opened and a dazzling, crimson light spilt forth. With a roar that could shake the earth, his Aggron lumbered towards Ringo. For some reason, the lingering energy of the Spin seemed intensified. It was almost like an offensive aura had flared to life to boost his Aggron. Or maybe it was a fantastical hope fuelled by rage. Either way, Ringo was not impressed.

   ‘Disgusting.’ Ringo snarled. ‘Just as I thought. Gyro Zeppeli, you are a conformist. You only found your resolve once I had hurt your “friend”. You will never be able to kill me with something like that.’

   Gyro slowly crawled up from his knees. His Aggron howled. Bloody and sputtering, Gyro looked towards Johnny; what a wretched sight he was. Ringo drew in a little closer. Gyro looked up and he was met with the barrel of Ringo’s gun and his solemn, disregarding face.

   ‘I have one bullet left in the chamber.’ he said. ‘But, I am only inclined to kill those who have demonstrated an all-encompassing Dark Determination for that is what is left when there is neither truth nor ideal.’

   Truth. And ideal. Those stupid fucking words again. Doctor Ferdinand had spouted similar nonsense. Ringo really was in cahoots with the President; no one else would ramble such philosophies otherwise.

   ‘There is no need for me to finish you off.’ Ringo said. ‘Get out, go. I will release you from my orchards.’

   ‘No! Fight me! I want the badge!’ Gyro yelled. I want Johnny, he found himself unable to speak.

   Ringo grabbed Johnny’s leg. ‘My only objective is my training. To become a human worthy of being useful to this world. And, to the man who valued my abilities as both gunman and Trainer, to that man, I am indebted. The Dragon Stone that this Joestar possesses in his left arm, I will take it and return it to Valentine.’ Ringo bowed to Gyro. ‘I thank you for the duel.’

   Ringo dragged Johnny off and Gyro collapsed briefly. He thought he was fine, physically, all things considered but he wasn’t in a good headspace. He gritted his golden teeth together. And, to purge himself of the vision of Johnny’s body being taken, he ran through the facts. After all, like he had said earlier, numbers have a consistent quality.

   ‘That guy… That bastard… was this… did he do it on purpose? Or was it a coincidence? That gun was an 1874 Colt. Its firing range…? Five steps… and how many was he from Johnny when he shot him?’ Gyro got to his feet, emboldened. ‘A step further than Johnny. Johnny is still alive. His brain could still be intact. The bullet should have stopped, lodged in his skull. We can fix that.’

   Each breath turned to a hiss. Each breath became a reason to continue, a reason to fight. It became a fire instead of Gyro which blazed through his blood and body. He could feel an overflowing of tenacity within him from a reservoir of emotions he was not truly acquainted with. He had found a Dark Determination of his own. One which was selfless.


	35. VS THE TRUE MAN'S WORLD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The event that made Ringo realise his path unto the True Man's World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for attempted rape/child molestation. 
> 
> Ah! So sorry about the delay; I completely forgot yesterday and was out of town on Tuesday.

   When Ringo Roadagain was young, his father was a farmer but fell upon poverty. He took to tramping to search out other ways of employment and he left his family behind to take care of the farm and keep it from the bank’s greedy clutches. However, for reasons never disclosed, he was never able to return home. A message was sent, at one point which described the reason: the reason was his death. He had been imprisoned on charges by a local police court and had fallen ill in his cells. He never received medical treatment for this disease and thus, it claimed his life.

  Much like his father before him, Ringo was of a frail constitution. It seemed to be a rare disease which surfaced in his bloodlines, only on the male or paternal side though. His sisters had been unaffected after all. However, unlike his father before him, Ringo had been hindered by the illness from birth. He appeared to have a rare, stronger strain of the sickness.

   As a result, from birth, Ringo had fragile skin. Even the slightest cut would turn to a deep gash. Moreover, it appeared anything and everything could make him bleed. This made him unsuited to work and education. Even the doctors his mother would take him to were baffled by this disease, so Ringo spent a lot of his childhood bedridden.  And, even in the warm, cosy comfort of his bed, he would still succumb to his ailing health wherein it became hard for him to breathe even.

   However, one night, Ringo awoke wearily and as his eyes opened, his world was about to change. His vision was altered by the darkness, but still, he saw it clearly: a vagrant loomed over him. He was large and in the dim light moonlight, his hideous face was illuminated.

   His hair fell in greasy locks. His clothes were holey and patched. The man gave off an odour like the dead. He ate something – an uncooked, raw potato – from his right hand. All whilst watching Ringo stir from his slumber.

   Ringo looked up at the man, confused. Was this a dream or something else? He had pondered. This left him vulnerable.

   With his left hand, the man clamped his fingers around Ringo and threatened to choke him. Ringo’s breath hitched. He soon realised this was real and was petrified. Then, he said, with potato chunks crumbling from his mouth:

   “Don’t you make a ruckus now.” he warned. He leaned in closer. “And here I thought this house had disappointed. I’d long forgotten skin as beautiful as this.”

   Ringo’s eyes averted as he tried not to breathe in the putrid breath of the vagrant. Through the gap between the man’s torso and his arm, Ringo’s eyes fell through and he saw a ghastly scene. The bodies of his mother and sisters were sprawled out in dark, liquid pools. They were twisted and contorted in unnatural ways. He continued to make sense of his surroundings when, he saw it glinting in the moonlight: a blood knife shoved into the table.

   It became all too apparent in that instant. His family had been killed. Tears began to well up in his eyes but as the man leaned back and dropped his hand from Ringo’s throat, Ringo realised that he may have to be fearful for other reasons. He watched, terrified, as the man tore of his clothes. First his shirt and then he tried to unbuckle the worn leather of his belt.

   The vagrant leaned down onto the bed, he began to climb up on it. Ringo flailed. He tried to free himself from his sheets, but he was too scared. The man stopped him, held him down. Ringo trembled, fear and tears in his eyes. The man inhaled Ringo’s smell and licked him. Ringo’s scream was muffled.

   The vagrant, he slurred, almost drunkenly, “So beautiful…. A million times more beautiful than I ever fucking thought.”

   However, in his terror, Ringo was not useless. As the man attempted to rape him, Ringo saw an opportunity. The man wore a gun on his loosened belt. In his terror, he chose to fight. He was able to pull out the gun from its holster and he put it between them. The man was wary and that gave Ringo a bit of space.

   He shrugged, slobbering still, then spoke. “C’mon, hey, what do you think your doing? That’s dangerous.”

   Ringo’s hand trembled. The gun shook. It felt undeniably heavy in his hand, heavier than anything he had ever held before: both physically and morally. He sputtered. He bled. From his nostrils, blood dripped.

   “You managed to take it from me, that’s pretty impressive, but it’s a very bad thing to have and you’ve made me very mad.”

   The vagrant spoke low, threateningly so. Ringo was terrified, but he still held onto that gun. It was the only thing giving him leverage in this horrifying situation.

   “If you shoot, you’ll kill yourself. That’s a lotta blood…. I’m certain, the shock of recoil would kill you if you shoot.” The vagrant’s voice continued to drop lower. “Not to mention, if ya live, I’ll kill ya real slow since you’ve pissed me off. I’ll cut off yer ma’am and sister’s arms and make you watch as I feed ‘em to me Pokémon.”   

   Ringo coughed and sputtered. Blood continued to gush. His grip faltered but he refused to allow the gun’s nozzle to lower. He wanted to live as scared as he was, he was ignited by a desire to survive. But, unfortunately, his body was not strong enough to meet his will which was strong as steel.

   He released one hand to cough into. Blood dripped between his fragile fingers. The gun was lowered and shaken amid his hacking coughs. His lungs ached, and his body trembled. His desire to survive quelled by his desire to ease the burden of his pain. Ringo’s body curled in on itself. He dropped the gun. It hit the floor with a clunk.

   There was a moment which followed in which it felt like time had stopped. Ringo’s heart raced, he breathed – panted – heavily. Even though he felt as though he were rapidly breaking he competed with the vagrant. Both dove on the gun at the same moment.

   Ringo’s fingers brushed the gun first, but the vagrant got a hold of it first. Then, a miracle occurred the dark: light, bright and yellow, flooded the room. Ringo shielded his eyes as he smelt the distinct odour of burning flesh rise through his nostrils. He heard an unknown noise – tiny and metallic – followed by a noise he did know: a garbled mouth and the sound of steel hitting the floor.

   The light slowly died. The vagrant foamed at the mouth. Ringo grabbed the gun and brandished it once more. His hands shook. It was heavy. So heavy. But he was terrified. His life was worth more than the weight of the gun. It was worth more than the weight of murder. His eyes turned to flames as he felt something click inside of him.

   He shot the gun. Ringo screamed, cried. He was terrified as he shot that gun. He fired only once but that was enough to reduce the vagrant to a mangled, bloody pulp. It was just one shot and Ringo had landed it in the vagrant’s mouth. He choked on his own blood as his flesh was torn apart. Blood was everywhere. Inside the darkness, it was all Ringo saw. The vagrant flailed backwards.

   Behind the vagrant, he saw a single creature. It hovered in the air; perhaps two feet up. It moved and clinked, glinting in what little light there was. Ringo shook as it came closer. He sniffled hard and his nose twitched. He realised his nose had stopped bleeding. The creature came a little closer and Ringo realised it was the cause for his miracle. He realised that it was a Klink.

   As he placed his hand on its lukewarm chassis, Ringo could feel himself grow flushed, he could feel himself grow stronger. A new strength had awoken in him, as scared as he was, but he embraced it. Just as there had been light – electricity – in the darkness, Ringo found a new source of hope, if he could call it that. Hope sounded too innocent for the truth he felt the light was. He could see the path he needed to take now.

   He breathed through his nose and it filled his chest. It was like he was breathing for the first time. Every breath was fresh and crisp. And ever since the horrid night, Ringo Roadagain had never struggled with cuts or bruises, blood or breathing difficulties. He was a changed person.

   Because of that Klink, something new was fostered inside of him. As he sought his truths and lights, Ringo developed an admiration for Steel type Pokémon. Thought Electric Pokémon were closer to the light, it seemed that Steel type Pokémon were more allied with the hardened truths of the world as Ringo desired a will as strong as iron, as strong as steel.

   A fair duel that would serve to quell the uncertainties inside of him, that is what Ringo truly desired that day onwards. That was the wall he had to surpass in order to find this True Man’s World which he believed in. That was what he believed and that was the path that he decided to dedicate his life to following, even if it brought him to the unsavoury companionships of Team Pax Unova. He desired his own form of a ‘Pax’ world too. He desired his own form of truth. No wonder he had risen through the ranks with his ruthless battling and impressed the President.


	36. VS THE TRUE IRON WILL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation between Gyro and Ringo evolves into a most unusual duel.

   Gyro’s fury woke inside of him. He clutched onto his side as bled. He coughed up blood and uneasy breaths. He tried to remain on his own two feet, but he collapsed, but he burned. He burned with pain both physical and emotional. He was a little bit stunned, and yet there was a sure-fire clarity and determination in him as he forced himself back up, stumbling like a newborn Ponyta.

   But, it was challenged by a spectral voice, disembodied and almost behind him. A spectral voice like the ghost of his father as produced by the memories that resided inside of him.

   ‘You can’t be…’ his father’s voice observed in vain disgust. ‘Heading back towards that cabin, are you son of mine? To save Johnny Joestar?’

   Gyro, confused, looked around futilely for the source of the voice. He could not find it yet it was so imminently close. He chalked it up the blood lust and yet, what his father was trying to tell him – what this image of his father was trying to tell him – enflamed something inside of him as he stumbled around.

   ‘Gyro.’ his father’s voice scolded him as he attempted to get closer yet to Ringo’s homestead. ‘Do not go back into the cabin. You will lose, if you go.’

   ‘Father…’ Gyro breathed.

   ‘This is something you should have realised by now.’ his father continued harshly. ‘You cannot win… What are your motives for going into the cabin? Your being sentimental and that is why you will lose. That sentimentality of wanting to save your friend, discard it. That sentimentality will eat away at your heart and create vulnerability. Sentimentality will be the downfall of this family and our artform of the Steel PokeBalls. Even your Pokémon must be your tools for your victory.’

   Gyro fell to his knees again. He felt hopeless. His father was right, but Gyro didn’t want his father to be right. He felt that burning feel inside of him begin to fail as he floundered with his personal feelings and what he had been taught growing up.

   ‘This victory is irrelevant. You should not go! Your Pokémon – your tools – ought to be saved for the battles which matter.’

   ‘B-But the badge…’ Gyro fumbled with his words.

   ‘A victory for your friend is irrelevant. A victory for your journey, for the King, however.’

   Gyro sputtered, a feeble smile. This ghost was still his imagination. He still had some control over it, it would appear. Even in this dazed state of turmoil.

   ‘However,’ his father’s voice pointedly turned, ‘your whole journey is a loss. You are a slave to sentimentality. Leave this orchard at once! Leave this entire race! That is an order! You are the eldest son of the Zeppeli family, behave like it. And have I not told you? That boy – Marco – his innocence or his guilt are irrelevant. You are being misguided by your sentimentality, return to Kalos this instance! There are no victories for you to have in this savage land…’

   Gyro sat down. He gave up on struggling, but he did turn around and, in the clouds, and in the air, he swore he saw his father’s stern image. He didn’t feel dizzy or dazed. He felt perfectly clear and determined.

   ‘If I may Father,’ he bitterly began, ‘this is not about sentimentality. It is about something bigger than you or me, or hell, even Johnny. It’s about proving I am not a “conformist”. Fuck that big-headed asshole, all he’s doing is talking shit. It’s about working out what the hell is going on. Unova is a savage land alright and I’m going to understand its identity. What the hell are the Dragon Stones? Why does everyone want them so bad? Does Marco really have to be executed?’

   Gyro continued to raise his voice against the sky.

   ‘My ultimate priority is my path to understanding. It’s like you always said, Father: we all need a map through the wilderness. Yeah, well? I’m making my own and I’m going to use it as a tool to understand not just what’s going on but myself as well! Or else, I will never be able to move forward. I will never be able to pursue the future.’

   Gyro raised himself to his feet. He stood unflinchingly, as still as he could with all the blood pumping through him. He clutched onto a PokeBall tightly. He was slowly being consumed by that flame of rage and righteousness again.

   ‘That’s why I joined the Steel Ball Run race, Father: I want to be able to make decisions for myself and be able to pursue my future!’

   Something continued to come over Gyro as he began to charge forth against his father’s resolute will. He activated the ability of the Dragon Stone in his eye. He could feel the strange tattoo of a cross rise on his skin, it burned as fervent as a flame. It was a strange sensation and to Gyro, it hailed imminent victory. He swallowed and then he lobbed a PokeBall at the wooden slat wall of Ringo’s home.

   ‘Go, go, Jailbreak!’ Gyro yelled.

   Upon the impact of the PokeBall rocketing straight through the wood, Gyro got a flash of unnatural visions. He had a moment when he could see inside the house perfectly: Ringo’s location, his proximity to Johnny who was sprawled on the floor like the dead, and the sorts of things Ringo kept as his furniture. However, it was brief but accurate.

   From the second, Gyro came to use much around it as a conclusion. Ringo had raided Johnny for the notes regarding “Turbo” and was now looking over them in conjunction to a map. He didn’t seem prepared for battle. However, it did seem like Johnny was alive. Ringo seemed to still have a need for Johnny to remain alive, but Gyro wasn’t certain what that need was. Leverage unto him or something else?

   Then, the image faded and there was a flash of silver in its stead. There was a bestial groan which turned to a wail. From seeming thin air, Gyro’s Aggron came forth. It threw its head back and cried for battle, for its instructions.

   ‘Jailbreak!’ Gyro yelled. ‘Use Rock Smash!’

   His Aggron roared and the roar seemed to shake the whole house. Ringo turned his head and visibly paled. His reaction timing was far slower than that of the weight in which Gyro’s Aggron put into its action. Gyro’s Aggron swung at Ringo and its fist, armoured and heavy, smashed into the side of Ringo’s face. Ringo was moved by the force of it and half of his face, was now crumpled and bruised, part of his skull was perhaps cracked by the action, but he didn’t seem to care. He took it all in stride.

   He pushed his hand across his face, smearing blood. He lumbered away from Johnny’s body and Gyro got up onto Ringo’s porch. They met half way. It was hard not to as most of the wall that had once separated them, was now smithereens thanks to Gyro’s Aggron.

   Ringo lifted his head and a stern expression crossed his face, but it was an expression of anger, nonetheless. ‘You’re still here…’ he commented. ‘Your actions are meaningless to me. I’ve already expressed this already.’

   He had a searing voice as cold as ice. Gyro cocked his head. He exuded arrogance. Ringo continued to speak as his fingers edged over the PokeBalls that lined his belt.

   ‘My employer, my President, will likely tell me to dispose of you, but doing so means nothing to me.’ Ringo explained.

   ‘Ya know… It might just be me, but I’m starting to think you’re looking down on me.’ Gyro testily cut into Ringo’s speech. as he fidgeted with his Aggron’s PokeBall, impatiently tossing it up and down. Gyro also began to come even closer to Ringo, stomping through the ruins of his house. ‘I know you got a badge.’

   ‘Correct.’ Ringo said, and he locked eyes with Gyro. ‘And our eyes have met, and you are a contestant in this Steel Ball Run race and I am a “chosen Trainer”. I suppose… we have no other options despite the conflict of interest between us.’

   Now, they were both so close it was as if they were breathing on one another. They felt as though they were close enough to see every pore in the other’s skin or fleck of colour in the other’s eye.

   ‘So now what?’ Gyro prompted, a stalemate really.

   ‘I’ve developed my own way of battling. A duel of speed, really. One hit, one turn, six turns. Whoever lands the most hits on the other’s Pokémon, wins. Though, in the event of a one-turn knock-out, the win ought to belong to the succeeding attacker, even if it had moved slower. Also, our battle must go for six turns – no more, no less.’ Ringo replied.

   ‘Sounds easy enough.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘And your Aggron is disqualified since its already landed a hit on me.’ Ringo added.

   ‘I can cope with that.’ Gyro replied again. There was a flash of crimson and his Aggron disappeared back into its PokeBall.

   ‘Then let’s settle this like Trainers.’ Ringo said.

   Gyro swallowed, and Ringo had already unclipped a PokeBall. He had nimble fingers and an agile mind, but Gyro refused to bow. Though slowed by surprise, he was able to call out a Pokémon anyway. Their voices mashed, out of synch and there were streaks of silver going everywhere.

   ‘Family Bible, use X-Scissor.’ Ringo said.

   ‘Um, uh, B-Bonny!’ Gyro yelled. ‘Crush Claw!’

   Their PokeBalls arched high as they opened. Their Pokémon escaped the light and clashed immediately. Ringo’s Family Bible was revealed as a smaller than average sized Escavalier whereas Gyro had chosen his beloved princess Bonny the Zangoose to fight in his stead. And it was Zangoose who struck first.

   Gyro’s Zangoose pounced on Escavalier with its claws bared. They glowed with a pale white light as they attempted to pierce the hide of its foe. Its foe was able to resist the attack quite well but still, it was Gyro’s Pokémon who had landed the first hit and Ringo did not contest that. So, he called back his Pokémon and Gyro mimicked. It was an unusual way to fight and it got Gyro nervous. Ringo was more adept this unusual style than him, so he likely had a back-up plan for if he took too many hits. However, Gyro did take comfort in one thing about this way to battle. It seemed strangely safer than if they were to just fight without limits.

   Gyro’s heart pounded as he glanced at Johnny, sprawled out on the floor. He was just another piece of debris in the building and all the house was game. Gyro hoped that he and his team could keep things in a contained within a small space, just what was between him and Ringo, really. After all, figured, Ringo had no intention of being gentle.

   ‘Go, go, Squealer – Slam!’ Gyro yelled.

   ‘Hello, Goodbye, use Swift.’ Ringo instructed.

   This time, it was Gyro’s voice which cut in before Ringo’s but that had little bearing out the outcome, really. Gyro’s Furret sprang out from the light and from the PokeBall Ringo had chosen, a Skarmory lifted itself and spread its wings. And, despite seeming disadvantage, it was Furret who attacked first.

   Gyros Furret leapt at Skarmory with a grand somersault. Its long and chubby body slammed against Skarmory’s beak which extended before it. The Swift it had attempted to prepare, stunted by the Slam. It squawked, and Ringo wordlessly returned his Skarmory. Gyro grunted and returned his Furret which noisily protested as it must have been ready to fight after such a grand opening turn.

   Still, that sense of dread in Gyro was building. Though, he did garner some comfort from the fact that this was a six-turn battle. He had already won two, if he could just get lucky once or twice more, that would be swell. The whole six turn rule had to be fulfilled and Gyro suspected he would get shot if he tried to go against that. He couldn’t let it fall to a stalwart draw.

   ‘Starr, use Aura Sphere.’ Ringo said.

   ‘Go, go, Decibel, use Headbutt!’ Gyro instructed.

   There was a grand flash of light and their Pokémon clashed closely. The silver streaks turned into a Lucario and a Linoone respectively. However, the Lucario got in first by what felt like – what looked like – a fluke. It gathered spitfire energy in the palms of its paws and push it forth into a pulsating, ultramarine orb. Linoone took a direct attack and it was a one hit knock out.

   Gyro’s Linoone was pushed to the other side of the room by the attack. The Lucario placed one paw on its heart and took a sincere bow. Ringo bowed as well. Like man, like ‘mon, Gyro huffed as he recalled his Linoone who had skidded past Johnny and bowled into Ringo’s dining table set.

   And thus, Ringo had taken his first win from Gyro. He did not smile. He did not boast either. He merely recalled his Lucario who graciously evaporated into light, swallowed by its PokeBall.

   The next round began. They threw out their PokeBalls, they flew through the air viscously with words – with names and attacks – in their wake.

   ‘Hero, use Night Slash.’ Ringo instructed.

   ‘Go, go, Riff Raff! Gig- No, Vital Throw!’ Gyro fumbled with his command as he tossed out his PokeBall.

   Their Pokémon met in the small arena they had made. Hero was revealed from the crystalline, silver light as being a Bisharp – a regular red one – and Riff Raff was Gyro’s Pangoro. Their clash was close, but not close enough. Gyro’s Pangoro was somewhat slower than Ringo’s Bisharp and as such, it was the one to attack first.

   It inflicted a Dark Type move upon a Dark-Fighting Type Pokémon, so it was ill effective despite the spectacular effects. The dazzling, violet light of shadowy energy that it sent through the air was gorgeous, but it did little to perturb Gyro’s mighty Pangoro, however, this was not an exchange of offence and defence. This was about speed and it had been Hero the Bisharp to do so it won this round.

   They recalled their Pokémon once more. Gyro swallowed. It was two-all. Unless they tied, this was going to be what decides this bizarre match.

   ‘Go, go, Problem Child, use Hyper Beam!’ Gyro yelled.

   ‘Mandom!’ Ringo yelled. ‘Thunder!’

   Shit, Gyro thought as he watched his Bibarel reveal itself from the light. His heart plummeted as he watched his Bibarel’s cheeks swell and energy gather inside of its mouth, but it meant nothing because it was slower than Ringo’s Mandom.

   Mandom, already known to Gyro as Ringo’s Klingklang, summoned its own electric energy. A grey thunder cloud summoned itself from thin air and the electricity inside of it rained down upon Bibarel and that was more than enough than to knock out Bibarel.

   The energy that had been building Bibarel’s mouth turned to nothing. Bibarel swayed and rocked as it came crashing down, unable to continue. Ringo silently recalled his Klinklang as Gyro recalled his Bibarel. Gyro did not do so wordlessly. He muttered and cursed, ungracious in his presumed loss. There was still one turn to go and it could result in a tie.

   Anger erupted into Gyro’s voice as he yelled out, ‘Mean Streak!’ He skipped past his usual pleasantries as he put everything he had into this final turn. ‘Use Foul Play!’

   ‘Solidarity, use Flash Cannon.’ Ringo instructed. He was calm and well-spoken even in the face of Gyro’s wrath.

   There was a flahs of silver and Ringo’s Pokémon – a Bronzong – was barely there before it was brutally attacked by Gyro’s Krookodile. Krookodile began to emanate a ghastly, black and purple aura made up of clumpy energy which behaved almost like mud or slime. Krookodile grabbed Bronzong and yanked it down. Its heavy chasis smashed through the floorboards of Ringo’s house. It screeched as it did so.

   Krookodile had attacked first, before Bronzong could even react. Ringo recalled his Pokemon. Krookodile breathed heavily as it tried to grasp at light and air. It seemed to revel in its seeming kill, its Ability, Moxie, seeming to have activated as it seemed stronger now.

   Gyro blinked. He paused before he recalled his Krookodile. He had won that turn. That gave them a three-all tie. What… now?

   ‘Return, Mean Streak.’ he said.

   ‘Congratulations.’ Ringo said. ‘You’re almost as good as me.’

   ‘One more time!’ Gyro yelled. ‘This ain’t ending here, one more round!’

   ‘We agreed six.’ Ringo replied, placid.

   ‘That’s not for you to decide. You’re a Chosen Trainer and I am here to either win or lose. There is no draw: only victory or defeat!’ Gyro argued.

   ‘Interesting, Gyro Zeppeli.’ Ringo sneered. ‘Your eyes have a better glow to them now, but you are still a conformist.’

   ‘Go, go, Heartbreaker!’ Gyro yelled, and he flung out another PokeBall. ‘Use Stone Edge!’

   And now, it was Ringo reacting, conforming to the lead that Gyro was forcing. He smirked but Gyro was too enraged to notice.

   ‘If this is what you wish,’ he murmured, then he raised his voice somewhat as he raised his hand, PokeBall perched between his fingertips delicately: ‘Uncloudy Day, use Magnet Bomb.’

   And it was Gyro’s Nidoking which attacked forth. Its voice was Gyro’s voice. It let rip a thunderous roar from the depths of its throat. It pushed forth its arms and with its action, arose pointed stones from beneath them. They pierced the floorboards, wood splintered around them, and entrapped Ringo’s Pokémon, a Magnezone.

   Ringo’s Magnezone cooed as it took the damage. It was resistant to the attack but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t that sort of battle after all. All that mattered was who attacked first, and it had been Gyro’s Nidoking.

   Gyro called down. He inhaled sharply and returned his Nidoking. ‘I’m satisfied. He said. I have no further reason to attack you, our tie has been broken.’

   ‘And that is why you will be a conformist.’ Ringo replied.

   ‘I don’t understand.’ Gyro replied. ‘Conformist this, conformist that. I just don’t see it.’

   ‘Your loyalties, your sentiments blind you.’ Ringo replied.

   There was that word again. Gyro hated it.

   ‘You attack for your friend, you attack for your reward: there is some honour, in it, I suppose. You have duelled with some respect.’ Ringo said.

   Something inside of Gyro twinged. He felt as though he hadn’t battled with honour, just a moment ago. He had selfishly struck first, desecrating their agreement.

   ‘It is fortunate for you, that that was a test.’ Ringo said. ‘A seventh turn to decide our fate. You or me. You chose yourself. That proves to me that you are closer to the path than before. However, you are still a conformist and as such you must find your shining path of light.’

   Again, something inside of Gyro was sparked, ignited. He looked up. Guilt as a burden lessened upon his conscious. He was fortunate it indeed.

   ‘There are societal values upon us but there are also the values we make for ourselves. There are values I consider to be that of a true man’s world. They are not necessarily synonymous. Just like truth and ideal, are two different sets of values, we must choose what it is we keep upon our hearts as our morals. I have elected truth, for myself and I feel as though you ought to as well. I can feel the fire of Reshiram burn in you, just like I can feel like it burn inside of me. However, how you take arms against the strife you face in life is different to I…’ Ringo lectured.

   Gyro didn’t know why he was listening, but he was. This Ringo was a mad man, but Gyro listened regardless. Perhaps he was a mad man too. He felt as though Ringo knew something he didn’t, he knew something that Johnny didn’t. Gyro felt that Ringo had something in common with Ferdinand as well. Perhaps it was because they were Chosen Trainers and tramps of the President and Pax Unova. Perhaps it was something else. Still, Gyro was certain there was an emerging interconnectedness of it all and the race and the Dragon Stones were the crux, so, he listened.

   ‘Gyro Zeppeli, I hope you continue this race so that you may find your path and set it ablaze. I want you to have something.’ Ringo said.

   Ringo came closer. Gyro was apprehensive, but he allowed it. He pushed his hand through an inner pocket of his jacket and he pulled out a small, enamel pin.

   ‘It is my duty to gift you this as you have defeated me, President Valentine’s Chosen Trainer. That is the Purity Badge and it is a symbol of my soul, I feel. It is a symbol of your victory. Cherish it, for you have earned it.’ Ringo said.

   Gyro held out his hand. Ringo handed over the badge. It was round like a coin, a pale silver in colour, and was neither decorative or fancy. It was merely a token of a win. Gyro stuffed it into his pants’ pocket. He would give it a more dignified home later, but he had other things on his mind. Things like Johnny and getting the hell out of here.

   ‘However, I also have something I want to give you as one equal to another. You have bested me. I have won every battle up until now and, I want to give you something in commemoration of that.’

   ‘Really?’ Gyro replied, hesitant.

   ‘Most certainly.’ Ringo replied.

   He was calm, eerily so. Gyro was again, apprehensive. He watched as Ringo’s hand fell to his belt, Gyro feared he would pull his gun, but he did not. Rather, he unclipped a PokeBall.

   ‘This is Starr, my Lucario. I trained her since I met her as a youth whilst exploring Challenger’s Cave, a place not too far from here, actually. I want you to have her. She’s a good battler and a good travelling companion, I believe she will suit you well. After all, she bowed to you. Lucario have the ability to perceive auras and I believe Starr a colour in you that she liked, she doesn’t bow for anyone.’

   Ringo offered the PokeBall to Gyro. Gyro shook his hands in front of Ringo.

   ‘There’s no way I can take such a lifelong companion of yours from you.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘No, please. I insist.’ Ringo asserted himself very seriously and in a low voice.

   Gyro didn’t like the tone in which Ringo had spoken, but he took the PokeBall. It was a Heavy Ball with a grey chasis. He took a ruffled note that he would never mistake his newly acquired Lucario’s PokeBall for any of his other’s as it was so stark against the green, metallic PokeBalls that were also on his belt.

   ‘Thank you.’ Ringo said.

   ‘I’ll take good care of her.’ Gyro replied.

   Ringo took a few steps back from Gyro. He had a calculated stance about him, then, he bowed. Gyro tipped his head forward slightly. He was certain this was not the custom in Unova, but whatever. It was certainly the custom of the True Man’s World that Ringo descended from.

   ‘For the truths of the world, I shall pray. For your care of my Starr, I thank you.’ Ringo said.

   Ringo looked up, slowly, towards the heavens as he spoke. Then, he slowly released himself into a bow. He placed one hand over his heart. Then, instead of letting it drop down to his side, it snaked towards his gun. Gyro’s eyes widened as Ringo slowly pulled his gun. He carefully unclicked the safety on it. He unwaveringly placed its nozzle to his temple.

   ‘Welcome to the True Man’s World.’ he said.

   Then, he shot himself.

   The resulting carnage was nigh religious. Sunshine seeped through the broken wall as his life left his body. As his blood left his body. Until he became a corpse, unmoving and solemn basking in the light.

   Gyro took a breath. He was uncertain as to how to react to that. He was still processing the sound of gunshot, let alone what had unfolded before his eyes. 


	37. VS LUCARIO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyro attempts to overcome all the realities in the wake of Ringo's death; including that he was now Ringo's Lucario's new Trainer.

   Gyro inhaled sharply through his nose. He turned his back on Ringo’s body. The man had died on his terms, Gyro could respect that though the sight of it was harrowing. If it weren’t for Johnny, Gyro would have had a tougher time processing the horrific vision of seeing a man kill himself in front of him.

   ‘C’mon, Johnny,’ he said as he walked towards where Johnny laid like a ragdoll, Gyro knelt down by Johnny and placed his fingertips under Johnny’s jaw, he breathed slowly, both of them did, ‘Johnny, looks like you still have a pulse… The both of us still do.’

   Gyro scooped up Johnny’s body. His head lolled over Gyro’s arms and his legs seemed heavy as lead. Gyro toed open the door and he brought Johnny out into the light. He placed him on the porch, next to Hot Pants. Gyro glanced between both unconscious bodies with him. He wondered, briefly, which one would be less awkward to ransack for health potions or healing Pokémon.

   Did Hot Pants even have any healers on his team? Gyro didn’t know. He sighed. He knew Johnny did though. So, Gyro chose Johnny’s waist to raid for PokeBalls.

   His fingers crept across Johnny’s belt as he tried to work out which PokeBall was which. He felt both pressed for time and like there was all the time in the world. The only thing he knew for certain was that the Pokemon in the Zeppeli original, steel PokeBall was Tusk the oddly-coloured Pawniard. Gyro huffed. He would simply have to try as many as he could until he got to either Jumpluff or Clefairy.

   After about three or so attempts, Gyro found Clefairy’s PokeBall on Johnny’s waist. It had been a bit of trial and error, but at least Clefairy, when finally called out, was willing to listen.

   ‘C’mon, Angel, for Johnny.’ Gyro attempted to coo Clefairy that way but the little bugger turned its nose up at that, even though it could clearly see that Johnny was seriously injured.

   Gyro huffed. ‘Okay, how about for me? Your favourite Gyro Zeppeli?’

   Gyro got lucky that time around. That managed to coax the Clefairy into using Moonlight. From thin air, pink mist and perfume began to waft around them. An illusory full moon shone between the thin streaks of mist and shone upon Johnny. The bullet in his was pushed out and he was miraculously healed.

   Johnny’s face twitched. His eyelashes fluttered, and he wearily pulled himself up, he held onto his head. His brows furrowed. Gyro tried not to look relieved but that was impossible. He smiled fondly towards Johnny. He could give Johnny better medical attention now, he was certain. After all, he was alive and that’s all that mattered.

   Johnny looked around. He peered through the darkness of the house. He wondered what had happened. The wall had tumbled down and he couldn’t quite see Ringo’s whereabouts either. Was that a good or bad thing?

   ‘Oi, Johnny, look at me,’ Gyro said and he held up his hand, ‘hey is your head alright?’  

   ‘Huh?’ Johnny groggily managed to reply as his attention drifted back to Gyro and he finally noticed that his Clefairy was present.

   ‘Listen, I think I have come up with something. I have an original gag.’ Gyro said, his voice cracked though. ‘But I’m only going to tell it once, so listen up. Only once, so, how many fingers am I holding up?’

   Johnny squinted at Gyro’s hand. ‘Four?’

   Gyro waved his hand through the air. At each segment of this swing, he changed how many fingers he was holding up.

    Then put on a funny voice for Johnny, ‘Excuse me,’ then, he pinched his thumb and forefinger together, purposefully making his arm tremble as well, ‘let me pass.’

    He held it for a moment whilst Johnny stared.

   ‘And, that was the gag.’ Gyro announced. ‘What did you think?’

   ‘Fairy!’ Johnny’s Clefairy piped up but no one could work out what it was even trying to say so they ignored it.

   ‘Hm,’ Johnny paused as he mulled it over, ‘I think it was pretty good. Pretty hilarious, actually.’

   Gyro laughed, gladdened. ‘Right? It gets funnier with time. Though, don’t take my idea just because you like it.’

   ‘Hey, Gyro… Thanks for trying to make me laugh. I know you probably want to forget about whatever happened whilst I was, like, near dead but still… That Ringo Roadagain was a terrifying enemy.’ Johnny’s brow hardened. ‘I wonder if all the others we encounter from here on out will be that strong?’

   Gyro huffed. ‘We’ll just have to get stronger then. But we can’t drop out now. We both have one badge each after all.’

   ‘That’s good.’ Johnny commented.  

   ‘Yeah, we can’t quit now. We’ve both got a foot in the grave. We know things that the Unovan president doesn’t want us to know.’

   ‘Well, I don’t want to drop out of the race either.’ Johnny took a breath and looked to the azure sky. ‘It’s weird. I feel really emboldened after today.’

   ‘Yeah, same…’ Gyro admitted slowly even though when he closed his eyes, Ringo’s death played on the back of his eyelids. ‘Let’s go to Nimbasa City and we’ll get the lead. Then, one of us can get the next stage’s badge as well. And let’s not forget about those bloody Dragon Stones either.’

   ‘Yeah. We’ve got a lot to do.’ Johnny agreed.

   Gyro looked towards where their mounts were grazing. ‘Johnny, we should get going. I think we’ve stayed long enough. You might just want to let your mongrel Clefairy once-over Hot Pants though.’

   ‘Alright.’ Johnny replied.

   Gyro wandered off. He began cooing at his Mudsdale but then he took interest in Hot Pants’ Bouffalant rather than his own stead. Gyro began to riffle through Hot Pants’ belongings.

   ‘Whoa!’ he gasped. ‘This guy has a lot of stuff. I think we should take all his roast Miltank sandwiches. If we eat all of them, he’ll have no proof of our theft and therefore, he can’t legally kill us. Or, we could piss him off and just eat the filling and leave the bread behind.’

   Gyro laughed at how evil he thought he sounded. Johnny thought he just sounded petty. Still, that did bring his attention back to Hot Pants. Johnny looked at his Clefairy and his Clefairy defiantly looked back. He sighed.

   ‘C’mon, obey me just this once. Angel, use Moonlight on Hot Pants here.’ Johnny said.

   His Clefairy poked its tongue out at him, but it did obey him. Once more, a healing light shone above them. A moonlit illusion splayed out in front of them and a sweet scented wafted. Hot Pants groaned, and his fingers twitched but it seemed like he was still badly injured.

   ‘Is this guy really alive?’ Johnny mused aloud.

   He and Clefairy clustered close to Hot Pants. Johnny put his hand on Hot Pants’ waist and slid upwards. The clothes he wore were thick and a bright magenta. Johnny couldn’t get a good reading for his pulse, maybe the fabric would be thinner closer to his chest. It was under the flaps of his overcoat, that Johnny made an awkward discovery.

   Hot Pants’ chest bulged with a pair of breasts, or so it seemed. Johnny retracted his hand immediately. His face flushed. He furtively looked around and decided to pretend that Angel bit his finger. He made a fuss at returning his Clefairy to its PokeBall to quell any suspicion Gyro may have in regard to this faux pa.

   ‘Johnny!’ Gyro yelled. ‘What’re you doing, we gotta get going.’

   Johnny glanced once more at Hot Pants. He decided that it wasn’t his business, how Hot Pants decide to present themselves in the race.

   ‘In a minute.’ he said.

   He then called his Zebstrika over. Johnny pulled himself up into his saddle and soon enough, he joined Gyro. Together, they rode through the rest of the orchard without issue. It felt good to do so after everything that had happened today.

   The rest of their ride was quite peaceful, all things considered. They didn’t get as far as they would have liked as they couldn’t press on during the night, but they had ridden well into dusk and twilight. So, now, they made camp. They would have a lot of catching up to do tomorrow, more likely than not.

   They poked around a fire. Gyro had a serious expression as he put down the can of beans he had warmed. They were barely empty. 

   ‘Still thinking about Hot Pants’ gourmet sandwiches?’ Johnny asked.  

   ‘Sort of.’ Gyro replied as he snapped a twig and through it into the fire. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’

   ‘Yeah? Go ahead?’ Johnny permitted in a small voice.

   ‘Ringo killed himself.’ Gyro said, bluntly.

   Johnny coughed. ‘It’s not your fault. And – And anything you did, it was self-defence.’

   ‘Thanks… Johnny.’ Gyro replied. ‘I think he died on his own terms though. He was clearly struggling with a lot and I don’t know what it was, but he went on his own terms. I guess I can respect that.’

   ‘Yeah…’ Johnny replied, awkwardly.

   ‘He seemed to have some thought ahead. He gave a magnificent speech and it’s not like I had to loot him for this thing.’ Gyro said. He dug through his pants’ pocket and produced the badge.

   That was the first time Johnny had seen it all day. It was hard to see in the dark and firelight, but Gyro had described it to him a few times today and he could see those descriptions in it. It was round and silver. It looked more like a coin than anything else. It seemed to match the image in the guidebook, so it was likely legitimate.

   ‘I haven’t a clue what’ll happen to his Pokemon, poor souls but hey, at least I know this one is safe.’ Gyro said as he unattached the mismatched PokeBall from his belt. ‘Ish.’

   ‘Yeah, I’d wanted to ask you about that. You didn’t… You didn’t steal it from a dead person, did you, Gyro?’ Johnny asked, genuinely concerned because honestly, that didn’t seem far from Gyro’s character.

   ‘I’m not a heathen, Johnny!’ Gyro snapped.

   ‘Oh, good.’ Johnny replied, smarmy.

   ‘No, Ringo gave me this one of his as second prize for beating him.’ Gyro said.

   Johnny came in a little closer. He put his hands on his knees. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

   ‘Her name is Star, or so I’ve been told.’ Gyro said as he pressed the button on the PokeBall.

   Johnny leaned back as the flash unfolded before his eyes. The creature before him flexed, howled, and a shatter of silver-white light cascaded over the three of them. He looked up at it and it looked down its snout at him.

   ‘She’s a Lucario.’ Gyro said.

   ‘I can see that.’ Johnny grunted, annoyed, then changed his tune: ‘A Steel-type. Suits you.’

   ‘Yeah, that’s kinda what Ringo said as well.’ Gyro replied.

   ‘Well, treat ‘er well then.’ Johnny said.

   ‘I will, don’t you worry about that.’ Gyro snapped.

   Johnny pouted. He knew exactly what Gyro was insinuating there. It was literally only Angel and Angel has anger issues unrelated to Johnny, to be honest. They knew that. They all knew that. Johnny huffed. He decided he’d try and change the conversation.

   ‘Are Lucario rare in Kalos? They’re rare here so onya, Gyro.’ Johnny said.

   The Lucario in question was still trying to decide how to feel about its new environment, it seemed. After all, it had had no say in the matter of exchanging ownership. It was hard to tell if it knew that its first master was dead though. It probably did. It could probably read the weird atmosphere of Johnny and Gyro both as they contemplated if they ought to mourn for the man who had nearly killed them both.

   ‘Aw, not so much if you come from the south of Kalos like me. There’s a good population of them in the south-east of Kalos, around a city called Santalune. I guess they’re uncommon, maybe rare if you ain’t that well-travelled.’

   ‘Cool, cool.’ Johnny replied nodding.

   Gyro’s Lucario finally sat down. It crossed its legs and sat between the men. It held onto its ankles. It stared intently at Gyro, perhaps realising that Gyro was its master now.

   ‘And how’re you gonna bond with it?’ Johnny asked. ‘You think exposing your belly to it will work?’

   ‘Quit teasing, and you know damn well it did. After all, I can borrow some of your Pokémon well enough.’ Gyro growled. ‘But nah, Lucario are heaps smarter than that.’

   ‘It’s okay to be sad, girl.’ he told it. ‘You must’ve really loved Ringo and now he’s gone. He died but he didn’t want you to be sad or stifled by this, so, he gave you to me. And now, we’re gonna be friends. Is that alright with you? Can you read my aura? D’you like it?’

   He talked it almost like one might talk to a twelve-year-old child. It stared at him with star-struck eyes. It could see the swirl and curl of the ever-changing colours that made up Gyro’s soul.

   Lucario blinked slowly and made an odd-noise. It was almost like a purr, but it was too raspy. It placed its paw over its heart and it bowed to Gyro. Gyro bowed his head in return, his hand over his heart. Then, he extended his hand to. Lucario bent down and snuffed Gyro’s hand, gave it a tentative lick and nuzzle of its nose. Then, it decided that Gyro must haven trustworthy for it fulfilled the expectation that Gyro had of it. It placed its paw in Gyro’s hand. Gyro squeezed it.

   ‘Glad to have you on board, Star.’ Gyro pursed his lips. ‘Star…’ he muttered.

   ‘You don’t like its name… do you?’ Johnny asked.

   ‘A bit boring, “Star”, don’t you think?’ Gyro asked for validation.

   Johnny sighed. He wasn’t certain if he should agree or not. He was in a position to talk, but he did like to think his nicknames for his Pokémon tiered above Gyro’s knack for names.

   ‘Star,’ Gyro said firmly, ‘since you are now a member of the Zeppeli family, I now dub you as Rock Star. Much better, don’t you think?’

   His Lucario narrowed its eyes at him and a throaty growl escaped its throat. Johnny was amused though.

   ‘Guess not.’ he commented.

   ‘Wasn’t asking for you input, Johnny.’ Gyro seethed.

   ‘Too bad, you got it anyway.’ Johnny replied, sarcastic.

   ‘Well, Star,’ Gyro said, putting a hard emphasis on his Lucario’s nickname, ‘I guess you can keep your plain, boring name. For now.’

   ‘Cario.’ it trilled at him.

   ‘Still, welcome to the team. We’re glad to have you…. Even if your PokeBall is cramping my style.’ Gyro said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ringo spelt his Lucario's surname "Starr" with the double R as a meta-reference to The Beatles.
> 
> Gyro, unaware of the double R, assumes it is the single R ("Star") and in his meta lore, it becomes a reference to AC/DC's songs which heavily feature the word "rock star".
> 
> I just thought this might be handy for people to know.


	38. VS INFORMATION RELAYS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All sorts of things can be learned by word of mouth in the middle of the race.

   This is the twentieth day of the Fourth Stage. There was two hours until sunset. There was still a full day between the racing Trainers and their end goal of Nimbasa City. The stage running distance was about one thousand, two-hundred, and twenty kilometres. The number of races was at about one-thousand, nine-hundred, and eighteen with eight hundred and twenty-five being culled due to cowardice, death, and a variety of other reasons. The Trainer who currently had the lead was Diego Brando who sported a healthy one hundred and ninety-points. However, he also only sported on badge. So far, three Trainers held three of the badges handed out thus far.

   Hooves pounded the ground beneath them. They trampled green grass as the creatures carried upon such legs galloped steadily through the land. Currently, Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli were making good headway, or so they thought, all things considered with how slowed down they had been yesterday.

   Johnny and Gyro came to a halt as they approached a low-lying river which wound through the trees and natural lay of the land. It was a pretty spot out here, in this place just north of Nimbasa but Johnny knew better. Nature, forests and the like, would bleed into civilisation soon enough and soon enough civilisation would be reclaimed by nature again but this time, it would not be a green forest greeting them, but rather a desert. He wasn’t looking forward to it, truth be told.

   Gyro paused. He held one hand to his mouth, the other tightened round his reins. He leaned in towards Johnny.

   ‘The issue isn’t being seen,’ he began, ‘but being followed by these balloons is becoming a problem. Let’s move through these trees, and when we speak, hide your mouth.’

   Johnny awkward mimicked what Gyro was doing. ‘Why?’ he asked.

   ‘It’s lip reading. It’s not anything special. I don’t want our conversations being picked up by the balloons. It’s what a lot of soldiers get taught in the military and I’m sure Stephen Steel knows how to lip read too. And I’m sure he’s in cahoots with the government, too so let’s play it safe.’ Gyro explained.

   Gyro looked around, his eyes, very seriously, followed the bounce and play of the rushing water of the river. Through the branches of the closest tree, Gyro noticed human movement, well, as human as it got with Sandman and his entourage of untamed Pokémon. They were all hopping and running and flying along with him as he ran through the land.

   ‘Hey, look, its Sandman.’ Gyro said. ‘Oh, and Pocoloco is over there too. Looks like we’re headed towards the lead.’

   Sandman began to wade through the river, revealing its hidden depths. He kept his head above the water but still, it surrounded up to his shoulders. His Simipour seemed to enjoy itself, splashing along behind him, whilst a lot of his other Pokémon weren’t as happy to have been taking this route.

   Pocoloco’s Taurus bucked happily, going through the river as fast as it could. Pocoloco was holding on tightly to its reins, his eyes trained on the distance.

   Gyro’s Mudsdale came slightly out of hiding. Gyro cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to their rivals: ‘Hey, Sandman, oi, Sandman, we need to ask you something! Have you seen Dio? Who’s in the lead?’

   Sandman began to slow, but there was a contemptuous look in his eyes as he forced himself to look in the direction Gyro’s voice had come from.

   ‘You’re looking good as usual, Sandman!’ Gyro yelled, hoping to soften such a glare. ‘C’mon, tell us!’

   ‘We want to know what’s goin’ on right about now.’ Johnny added with a big puff of breath.

   Sandman paused. ‘Is Dio you’re only rival…? Well, no matter. I saw Dio’s tracks this morning! He’s about an hour ahead of us. He’s in the lead as he took a route with fewer rivers.’

   Sandman looked as though he was about to turn his back on Johnny and Gyro, but he reconsidered.

   ‘And one more thing,’ he added, ‘a storm is going to hit tomorrow. The last stretch of this race is going to be difficult.’ He raised his hand. ‘In the First Stage, I was awarded the victory instead of you. That’s why I’m telling you this, so we don’t have to owe each other anything.’

   Then, Sandman took an excellent dive under the water, closely followed by his Simipour. The rest of his mob skimmed the surface, if they could fly, or awkwardly tagged along. Pocoloco seemed to be gone already, carefree and unperturbed by anything he had overheard, if he had overheard at all.

   Gyro scanned the sky. He knew how to read the clouds and their patterns. It was a good day to be out in the sun, admittedly. The sky was nice and blue. Johnny meanwhile got out a map, then they reconvened.

   ‘I think we can trust what Sandman says, even though there ain’t a cloud out at all. So, Dio is an hour ahead of us… And its going to be a storm, not just rain. Then, that means travelling by a mount is going to be nearly impossible in that sort of weather. Looks like a change of plan, Johnny.’ Gyro said as his fingers traced the surface of the map that Johnny had provided for him to look at.

   ‘It’s almost dark, but let’s move as fast as we can. Hm, if there’s going to be a storm, that could be better for us. We’ll wait for a moment when its quiet and then we’ll charge on ahead towards the goal.’ Gyro said, and he moved his finger to a marking they had made on the map. ‘This is the place with “Turbo”, we can go here secretly after the end of this stage and we can retrieve the Dragon Stone easy. You okay with that?’

   Gyro looked up. He glanced at Johnny and it was quite clear by his frightened expression that he had found some sort of fault in that plan.

   ‘Gyro, no, that’s not it. We can’t do that.’ he rambled. ‘Sandman said that Dio took the route with the least amount of rivers. Look at the rivers in conjunction to Nimbasa, there’s none of the south side since it’s all desert but look at the north-west part, that’s where the next Dragon Stone is and look, barely any water at all. He’s headed straight towards it. Dio knows where Turbo is thanks to his left eye. He must be planning to get the next Dragon Stone before he finishes this leg of the race.’

   Johnny looked up and he paled. ‘You mentioned last night that Ringo Roadagain favoured Steel-types, but he still possessed a Skarmory. However, I remember. In his house, he had a bird cage for a smaller, avian Pokémon anyway. It was also empty. Don’t you think that’s weird?’

   Gyro furrowed his brow. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s weird.’

   ‘What if Ringo Roadagain had, like, a messenger Pidgey or something? Whilst we were both incapacitated, he could have let the President know about us.’

   ‘You’re probably right.’ Gyro growled, frustrated. ‘That makes it entirely possible that the rest of fuckin’ Team Pax Unova know where the next Dragon Stone is too. And without knowing what kind of messenger bird he was keeping, it’s hard to estimate if the information’s gotten loose or not.’

   ‘Well, a bird Pokémon can fly much faster than a mount can ride.’ Johnny said.

   He began to stuff his map away. He had his Zebstrika push forward. Johnny twisted around.

   ‘Gyro, we can’t let him get ahead of us.’ he said. ‘It might already be too late. But we have to get to the goal. I’m going to run through the storm.’

   Gyro scowled as he mulled over Johnny’s intentions. His eyes training in on the balloons in the distance.

   Meanwhile, over Nimbasa City, a sun shower scattered rain over the otherwise dusty and hot city. President Valentine mused as he flicked through sepia photos. They were taken recently and showed the train winding through its tracks with hot air balloons scattered throughout the sky. They were decent. Looking at these photos did little to quell the concern he had growing.

   He furrowed his brow as he looked up from the photos. Doctor Ferdinand strode into the room and sat down with the President from across his velour, luxe chair.

   ‘Tell me, good Francis,’ President Valentine said, voice slathered with condescending intention, ‘how much do you know about hot air balloons?’

   ‘Enough.’ Ferdinand replied, with a shrug, as he was slowly being investigated by his President’s ever curious Pokémon. He disliked their twitchy noses and beady eyes. He glared back at them. ‘Get off me.’

    Doctor Ferdinand was likely one of the few people who could insult President Valentine’s beloved Pokémon and live to tell the tale. However, this did begin what did amounted to an interrogation between the President and his good doctor.

   ‘Can they fly upwind?’ 

   ‘No, sir, only with the wind.’

   ‘How long can they say in the air?’

   ‘As long as the balloon has gas, it should be able to say up there. But, it needs a lot of gas, so it’d have to come down frequently enough.’

   ‘And how many are being flown right now in this race?’

   ‘About thirty-six. But only during good weather.’

   ‘Then, final question.’ President Valentine’s face hardened. ‘Then why the hell am I getting reports that Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli are missing despite having so many look-outs?’ He huffed. ‘And why does this always happen? And why have we not received a Pidove from Ringo and his orchard?’

   ‘We- We can’t track Mr Roadagain’s Pidove at all times.’

   Doctor Ferdinand bit his tongue. He decided he would not blame it on the fact that most of their work Pidove were husbanded by that idiotic Pork Pie Hat Kid and his flock. He still did not understand how that mediocre at best grunt inspired any sense of trust in the President, but he had and now they were all suffering for that failure.

   ‘That might be.’ The President toyed with his curls as he mused over what he was going to say next. ‘These are just petty details. But, it doesn’t hurt to be sensitive about these things. This is just a personal hypothesis, of course, but I believe it… I believe it possible that Mr Steel is not as willing to cooperate as I would like. Perhaps he’s trying to interfere? The hot air balloons are his property after all.’

   ‘But Funny,’ Doctor Ferdinand said, ‘Mr Steel does not stand to gain anything from double-crossing you like that. He has no motive for such a betrayal.’ 

   ‘That’s right.’ President Valentine agreed, thoughtfully. ‘Normally, promoters seek wealth and fame. But, not him. He’s a bit… different. He has a childlike passion. He has an idealism of his own. I think he still sees something pure in this race despite our… mishandling of his dreams, I suppose you could say.’

   ‘Our goals are grander than anything he could conjure.’ Doctor Ferdinand interjected.

   ‘True, true.’ President Valentine nodded, permitting the interruptions to his thoughts.

   ‘I think Mr Steel has a certain charisma, I will give him that much. The media, the middle class, volunteer workers: they all respect him. Which is why if he disappears from this race, our goals would be jeopardised.’

   ‘Yes, I see…’ President Valentine seethed. ‘Let’s hold that thought for now. But once he stops being of any use, we must ask him to take his leave.’

   President Valentine placed the photos down on the table beside them. Wistfully, he twisted around and gazed out the window. Soft splatters of rain were cast upon the windowpane by the wind.

   ‘And of the next Dragon Stone, Mr President?’ Doctor Ferdinand inquired.

   ‘We haven’t got a confirmed location, as of yet. I do know that it is nearby. I can feel it. It is close to Nimbasa City, I am certain.’ There was a spike of anger, or something akin, in the President’s voice. ‘According to Lili’s Map the next Dragon Stone ought to be close by! We must retrieve it soon!’

   Doctor Ferdinand mutedly agreed. He had his own ideas as to what they ought to do with such an artefact. He intended to study it, reproduce it, and resurrect the thing already, like he had done with his own precious team of Pokémon. He knew the President would never approve of that. He was a purist, in his own way. He would have it absorbed into him, just like the Dragon Stone that resided in his beating heart.

   President Valentine took a sharp breath. ‘We may need to start… interfering with the race. We need someone who is a viable pawn to begin claiming badges. Diego Brando is not a viable pawn.’

   ‘He’s just having a temper tantrum. Honestly, this isn’t even one of the worse ones he’s had!’ Doctor Ferdinand testily added, and he crossed his arms, offended.

   ‘That was not intended to be a criticism of your skills as a father figure, but, if the shoe fits.’

   Doctor Ferdinand gasped, and President Valentine seemed to be pleased that he had managed to ruffle his companion’s feathers. True, it did amuse him, but it did little overall to fend off the encroaching feeling that something was going to go very wrong, very soon.


	39. VS PIDOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy intercepts a very important message from Ringo Roadagain.

   ‘Uh… Ma’am? Mrs Lucy Steel, ma’am?’ the clerk called out from to Lucy from in front of her, she was gazing out the window and was just generally distracted.

   He had thought he had used a soft voice, but it was more than enough to spook Lucy. She looked as though she could have jumped out of her skin at such a call of her name. She clutched onto her breast as she turned around, there was a terrified look in her eyes, it was like she was a cornered Deerling. Then, she dramatically sighed and turned around.

   She pounced at the chalkboard with a rag. She huffed.

   ‘Very soon, this city will be flooded with the Trainers coming in. I have mountains of work, I can’t keep waiting on you!’ the clerk yelled.

   ‘The fact I’ve been learning to lip read, you haven’t told anyone, correct?’ Lucy asked, seeming to ignore the clerk.

   ‘Huh? What…?’ the clerk mumbled, confused by the sudden change in conversation. ‘Well, you told me not to… so I haven’t.’

   ‘Alright, well, I’m quitting studying then.’ Lucy announced. She collapsed in her chair and gazed at the chalkboard. Phonetic basics had been smeared off and turned to streaky dust. ‘None of this makes any sense. I give up. I’m falling sleep. I have no knack for it.’

   Lucy put her head to her desk. ‘Oh…’ she whined as she got an envelope ready. ‘He’s probably going to scold me for being so distracted.’ She passed it over her shoulder. ‘Here’s your money. You’re dismissed… But, um, excuse me, did that phone call to that person I request go through?’

   The clerk nodded. ‘Went through quite some time ago.’

   ‘Good, good.’ Lucy mumbled.

   Lucy waited for the clerk’s footsteps to disappear before she let the tears drip from her eyes. As a memory of Stephen floated in her mind, she found herself weeping.

   Stephen had told her once, so long as he had Lucy by his side. He could be content. It was true that Stephen did enjoy seeing his name in the papers, but it was also true that he enjoyed Lucy’s company even more. So long as he had her, he could live an ordinary and boring life. After all, newspapers became the next morning’s trash. Lucy was far more precious to him than that.

   Still, Lucy wanted to support Stephen and his dreams. It had been those dreams which had caused them to meet after all. She wanted to see him be able to put his heart and soul into the race and receive credit for it. Even if it was at the bottom of the page in the tiniest font. So long as it said, “promoted by Stephen Steel”, then Lucy could be content as well.

   However, Lucy knew the truth and it terrified. She was certain her husband, her Stephen, was going to be killed. He is just being used and when he has no use left, it was certain that he would be eliminated.

   The map belonged to a woman named Lili… The men with the names Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar… The Dragon Stones… The Steel Ball Run race… It was all inter-connected. And Lucy may not know how they connected and it terrified her, but she was determined to use this information regardless.

   With heaving breaths, Lucy tried to calm herself. She swallowed her sobs and she saw a flutter of movement outside the window. She was curious, and she decided to grab her binoculars. She peered through them and watched as a Pidove swoop down onto the cage kept on the building opposite them.

   She adjusted her binoculars and she could see that the Pidove carried a message in a tube attached to its leg. Her eyes widened. This was likely the Pidove that they were waiting for. She gasped. Just as she watched the Pidove’s grey wings flit about, an idea flitted into her mind and so, she devised a plan.

   Lucy grabbed a rain coat, a plastic pink, and went out in the rainy streets with something else in hand as well. She approached the building across the road and stood at the door. The guard scrutinised her.

   ‘Name and business, this is a government building, we ain’t got time for silly little girls.’ he stated.

   Lucy held up her lunch box. ‘I am Lucy Steel and I know this is a government building, but,’ she said calming despite her clattering nerves chastising her for her upcoming lie, ‘my husband, Stephen Steel, forgot his lunch this morning. I am here to give it too.’

   The long-coated guard shrugged and stepped aside. He allowed Lucy inside. She entered calmly but the moment he looked away, she scurried off deeper into the building. She quietened her breathing as rain dripped off her. Lucy was quick on her feet despite the rush of blood and nervousness. She made it to the roof easily, unpicking the padlock and chain so she could let herself out.

   Lucy cautiously approached the cage. Despite the wet weather, the feathered friends inside were more than chirpy and loud and all round quite energetic. She placed her fingers, gloved, in the slots between the wire and peered in. She looked around first and then saw the Pidove she was looking for. There was quite an impressive array of avian Pokémon inside, Lucy noticed.

   Just as she begun to open the cage, Lucy heard voices from behind the nearby door.

   ‘There is evidence to suggest that it should be coming soon, that Pidove Ringo sent.’

   ‘What kind of evidence do you think it is…?’

   The two voices were male. The first of the two was powerful and certain. The second was effeminate and something like a whinging whinny. Lucy recognised the former of the two. Their sounds flooded her veins with dread and adrenaline.

   So, Lucy acted. With rash imprecision, she chipped out the screws and opened the door to the cage which was locked. She grabbed the Pidove with a tube attached to its foot. It cooed sweetly, looking up at her with dumb eyes. It did not struggle as she held it gently near her breast. She replaced the screws as quick as she could. Lucy then glanced around, uncertain of where she could hide – if she could hide at all. She closed the cage and heard the door begin to open behind her. She panicked. So, she dropped to her feet and hoped that she fitted underneath the cage.

   Lucy wedged herself in the gap between the roof and the cage. She cowered behind a hanging cloth. She put her hand over her mouth and breathed her nose. From behind the cloth, she could see two pairs of legs stride past and investigate the cage.

   ‘So…? Is the Pidove here?’ the President asked.

   There was a pause. Presumably, his companion – the unknown voice – was looking. Lucy glanced at the Pidove in question. It stared up her noiselessly. She hoped and prayed that it remained silent until the men moved on.

   ‘Hm… Don’t think sooo…. Plenty of Pidoves… But no… letters or messages. Maybe it hasn’t arrived yet?’

   Lucy swallowed. She decided that now was the best time to retrieve the message. As carefully as she could, she began to take the cap off the tube. It made a slight noise, a hollow pop, but she tried her hardest to muffle it.

   The President sounded unconvinced when he replied to his compatriot: ‘What do you think is likelier? They say there are Pidove in this world which can fly two hundred kilometres in a day. Even if Pork Pie Hat Kid’s breed can’t, surely ours should have arrived by now.’

   He paused and seemed to have picked up on a new tangent, lost in his own thoughts.

   ‘Ringo said it carried important information and now we have information which says he has since died. Something of that much urgency?’ Valentine asked.

   ‘I’m sooory… I haven’t a clue.’

   ‘It’s possible that Ringo ascertained the location of the next Dragon Stone. Would that be likely?’ Valentine asked; his voice seemed to imply he thought it to be certain.

   Lucy coaxed the note out of its carrier tube. She read over the concise writing in the little light that she had. It was a message which contained coordinates for a location annotated with the certainty that in this place, the Dragon Stones could be found. It was signed off with the fancy signature of a Ringo Roadagain; no doubt the Ringo that the President and his comrade were speaking of.

   The man whom Lucy did not know circled the cage. He grabbed onto the door and peered in. Lucy almost squeaked from surprise.

   ‘Mr President… wait a moment…’ he said. ‘There’s something wrong with this cage. The Pokemon inside. Their feathers… seem mostly certainly ruffled. Something is amiss… I think, I could be wrong.’

   He paused as he looked through the wire cage. He counted the different species of avian Pokémon which were kept here. Then, he gathered himself and spoke with his dreary, droopy voice.

   ‘I’m sooory….’ he crooned. ‘I miscounted. Please let me correct myself, sir. I said that the Pidove hadn’t arrived yet but there’s one more than this morning. It looks like Ringo must have sent two Pidove messages. One with a message attached to its foot, and another. When he sent the first one, he must not have had time to give it the second message, perhaps.’

   ‘What do you mean? Why would one arrive and not the other?’ Valentine inquired, his tone tinged with infuriation and scepticism.

   ‘This is getting odder and odder…’ Valentine’s comrade said, inadvertently dismissing Valentine’s question. ‘There’s sign of a break-in. Someone pulled out the screws and hastily replaced them. Look, there are scratch marks.’

   Lucy’s heart hammered in her chest. They were slowly cluing into her presence. It was now only a matter of time until she was discovered. The fear of being preyed upon scared her to death, to be quite honest.

   ‘So, what you are trying say, Blackmore, is that someone came to this rooftop before us and pried open the door. Is that it, you dithering fool?’

   ‘Er… Yes…’ the man, now identified to Lucy as “Blackmore”, replied and seemingly ashamed of himself.

   ‘But I can’t imagine who!’ Valentine snarled. ‘But who would know we are expecting a Pidove to arrive, in Nimbasa City?’

   ‘I’m soooory, Mr President, but I can make amends.’ Blackmore said.

   He stepped away from the cage. He began to look around, he investigated the top of the tin and wire cage. He soon found what he was looking for by prodding about with his hands and snooping over the top of the feral-smelling cage. In the rain, he found wet prints belonging to a small creature with three toes. It was strange, it was like he had an affinity for water. Even as rain fell, it was like he could feel through it and erase the minutes of rain which had fallen on top of the cage since the arrival of the two Pidove.

   ‘There are two sets of Pidove footprints on the cage.’ he concluded. ‘And from the looks of it, the Pidove without the message is still damp.’

   ‘Then it would follow to reason that the Pidove in question must have arrived already. So that, in turn, begs the questions: where is it?’ the President continued on from Blackmore’s drivel.

   Lucy held her breath as she stared at the Pidove. She begged it not to make any noises. Her breathing began to heavy the more she tried to control it. Soon, her hot breaths, caused a leaf underneath her to stir. She watched in fear as it wafted away thanks to her breathing. It was not the Pidove that she had to worry about, apparently. It was, rather, herself.

   The leaf floated out to where Lucy could not see. However, it was more than apparent that it was an unnatural movement in nature and someone like the President, someone conniving and critical, would notice such a small thing. Lucy hadn’t a doubt in her mind that Valentine would have noticed such a seemingly insignificant thing. She continued to wordlessly beg the Pidove to be quiet. She didn’t need an obvious hint to her position to follow up this small mistake.

   There was a scrutinising, terrible pause and Lucy heard the shift of footsteps. She hoped that the men were merely moving away from their spot near the cage. She almost sighed out of relief but then, a hand – in a pink glove – began to move away the curtain of cloth that hid her. A knee followed then came to the ground, a crouch, and the cloth was continued pushed aside.

   Lucy flattened herself against the wall, leaning out of the sight. Lucy crumpled up the note. She strained a little, against the cement but she kept the note safe. She clutched onto it. The Pidove cooed, and Lucy cringed. Her heart beat in her ears.

   However, it was either to be discovered or to create a distraction. She had the note. She had the message: both physically and mentally as she had committed to memory in the few precious seconds she had to pore over it. It was better to release the Pidove now, so she did. It flew out from beneath the cage with grandeur. It chirped and cooed and flapped about. It made as big as a noise as it could.

   The curtain almost immediately fell back into its original position.

   ‘That’s the Pidove with the message - Blackmore, catch that Pidove immediately!’ the President commanded.

   ‘Ah! Sooorry, give me a moment, Mr President.’ Blackmore apologised.

   President Valentine sounded slightly trifled. Blackmore made quibbling noises and sounded like he was fumbling with something. The bottoms of his thick coats fluttered at Lucy’s eyeline. Then, he sighed.

   ‘Sorry to bother you…’ Blackmore drawled. ‘but I need to borrow your power, Mitzi…’

   There was a flash of light followed by squeaking. Lucy didn’t fiddle with the curtain much, but she tried to get a good look at the Pokémon that Blackmore had summoned. “Mitzi” appeared to be an Azumarill.

   ‘Use Rollout, Mitzi….’ Blackmore weakly commanded.

   Lucy thought Pokémon Trainers were supposed to be bold and commanding, or else they would never win the respect of their Pokémon. This Blackmore fellow seemed to be snivelling and spineless and therefore incapable of holding respect of his Pokémon. He even seemed incapable of being respected by his boss, but if Valentine trusted him to accompany him on this mission, there had to be more to his seemingly cowardly and wimpy disposition.

   His Azumarill squealed. It was hard to discern what sort of squeal but it almost sounded blood-thirsty. A thud followed it and soon, it shot itself into the air. It quickly engaged the Pidove in a battle.

   The Pidove cried out. Lucy took that as her chance to bolt. Both the President and Blackmore were likely focused on the Pidove now. She poked out and saw they were both distracted. She wanted to run away immediately but a single towards the battle had her awed.

   She didn’t have time to waste though. So, Lucy ran for the door. She dropped the cap in her haste as she made it to the door. She opened it as quietly as she could and ran down the stairs.

   ‘Thank you, Mitzi Dupree…’ Blackmore said.

   Blackmore’s Azumarill seemed to have launched itself a good twenty to thirty feet into the air after the Pidove and now, they were both plummeting back. Pidove landed with spiralling eyes. Blackmore’s Azumarill landed gracefully.

   President Valentine paused. He got down to his knees once more and he investigated behind the cloth, underneath the cage. He couldn’t fathom why one Pidove had made it inside the cage and not the other. He looked around. He found it awfully suspicious.

   Blackmore, meanwhile, picked up the fainted Pidove. He grabbed it by its scrawny, scaly legs and it made odd cooing noises. It had been a very powerful one-hit knock out. To be expected, his Azumarill was decades old with plenty of training instilled into whilst this Pidove was barely months’ old and had barely spent any time with its master, Pork Pie Hat Kid.

   At first, President Valentine was looking for food or crumbs. Pidove, as a species, had more allegiance to food than to anything else so it made sense to him that after a long journey, the Pidove could merely be hungry. But then he happened upon the cap.

   He picked it up and it matched the tube which adorned the Pidove’s leg. The capsule was without its cap.

   ‘Someone was just here, and they already know what the message says.’ Valentine said. ‘Who was it? Because this would mean they were already aware of the existence of Ringo’s message and now they have it.’

   Lucy ran messily through the halls of the building. She did not care for her clamour. She was free to let the adrenaline run through her as she tried to make her escape. She skidded down the stairs and came to a halt. Her body ached. Hot tears dribbled down her cheeks, but she swallowed her sobs. She gave herself a pause. So that she could breathe as her panic and fear got the best of her.

   She froze when she heard a voice cut through the silence: ‘We haven’t checked down this way yet!’

   Soon, the clatter of footsteps and people swarmed. Lucy got to her feet, but she didn’t know what to do. She was petrified, and her ideas of escaping were beginning to shut down on her.

   Meanwhile, on top of the roof, the President rang up on the phone. He took the receiver off the hook and he barked down into it: ‘Put this building on lock down! This is an emergency; our building has been invaded! Close it down, close it down immediately! And, you have permission, to shoot down this intruder as necessary.’

   Blackmore drifted from the President’s side. His Azumarill wandered next to him, curious. Both bent down to investigate puddles near the door.

   ‘I repeat: I give you permission to shoot the intruder! Raise all security levels; I don’t want anyone leaving this building!’

   The President’s voice boomed through the buildings’ speaker system. His eyes narrowed as he seethed, trying to understand how this seemingly impossible event had taken place. He was certain he knew what the contents of Ringo Roadagain’s message would be. He was certain it would reveal the location of the next Dragon Stone.

   But this impossibly had caused all sorts of urgencies and emergencies to erupt. Was it possible that Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli had an invisible ally to aide them? Valentine was uncertain. It seemed extraordinarily unlikely given that reports of Zeppeli was of a “loner” and Joestar was usually just an afterthought of the former; disliked generally.

   Lucy’s eyes grew teary as she heard announcements resound through the building. Permission to shoot particularly echoed in her head. She was defenceless. She wasn’t a trainer. She was just a girl who had gotten in too deep into something; she wasn’t quite sure what, but it seemed violent and despicable, driven by an unknowable greed.

   Inside of Stephen Steel’s office, he was blissfully unaware of the danger that his darling child bride was in.

   ‘The halls are awfully noisy today.’ he commented as he went about his work. He glanced at his assistant who stood straight-backed in front of the door, merely supervising. ‘What’s going on, do you know?’


	40. VS THE INTRUDER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy makes a daring escape in the nick of time.

   Tears dribbled down the side of Lucy’s face as she bit her lip. She could not allow herself to cry, to show weakness, for she would suffer more consequences than humiliation over it. To be found would be certain death for she had made rather unusual and rather powerful enemies out of someone who should not have been trifled with.

   Lucy edged around the corner. Downstairs, she heard the thunder of footsteps. Her heart raced. She was beyond terrified and starting to come upon her breaking point. She pushed herself a little faster. Voices, distant enough to be blurred, stilled bit at her ears and nerves.

   ‘Above, there’s no one on this floor!’

   ‘We’ll find ‘em!’

   Lucy swooped around a corner and scrambled into the closest room. She closed the door behind her and dragged a chair nearby. She stuck it under the handle and then collapsed next to it; back against the door. The sobs she had been suppressing erupted inside of her as she curled up into a ball.

   She cursed herself out for her foolishness. She had accomplished nothing but trouble. All she had done was make things inevitably worse for herself and her husband. It was awful. And, it was all her fault. The blame kept falling upon herself. Lucy wished she had never had the idea to snoop into the affairs of the adults around her. She shouldn’t have pried. She shouldn’t have done any of the things she had done, but alas, she had done them. Therefore, Lucy would have to ride out those actions until the bitter end no matter how dearly she wished otherwise.

   Meanwhile, the President and Blackmore were still trying to regroup with the men Valentine had sent out. His mind was frantic. He had no idea who had thrown the spanner in his works. He would never have predicted that a spy would be among them all, and yet there had been one.

   ‘Blackmore, this intruder…’ he hissed through the fray of confusion. ‘Do you think he is a Trainer registered to the race?’

   ‘I’m sooory…. Sir, but I cannot say.’ Blackmore crooned as he awkwardly fidgeted where he stood behind the president on the staircase. ‘But, if I may express my opinion… I don’t believe he is. If he were a racer, we would have received intel that he had arrived by now. And… And forgive me for this claim, I’m truly sorry, but I don’t think the intruder is a Trainer at all.’

   President Valentine’s brow furrowed as the cogs of his own mind began to turn.

   ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked, roused with suspicion.

   ‘Well, I don’t think a Trainer would have personally done the things he had done. If he had a Pokémon, he could have intercepted the Pidove before it even arrived, but he had waited until it had returned. Also… Judging from this person’s escape route, I think it might be possible he is… one of us.’

   Valentine grimaced. ‘Unbelievable.’ he muttered. However, he could not disagree. A Trainer could have flown or jumped off the building safely using the powers of his Pokémon. Their intruder had not. ‘But how many of us could have known about the Pidove?’

   ‘Mr President…?’ Blackmore piped up. ‘If we follow the drips down, we can probably find the intruder… But, if the intruder is hiding in a room, I could probably find him from the windows, if you would allow me, sir.’

   ‘Okay good plan, go right ahead, Blackmore.’ President Valentine replied even though he was still seething over the fact someone in his tightly knit group was a traitor seeming to leak information to outsiders. Not even the wayward, most lower level grunts were that loose-lipped.

   ‘We will retrieve Ringo’s information, sir. I promise… Even if the intruder tries swallowing it to hide it, I will cut open the intruder’s stomach. I will stop at nothing, sir.’ Blackmore promised.

   Blackmore selected a PokeBall from his stash. He opened up the window and his face were immediately smacked with rain droplets. He thrust out the PokeBall; his arm hovered over the windowsill rapidly turning slick with puddles.

   ‘Sorry to bother you… Junkyard Blues.’ Blackmore said.

   The PokeBall opened in a flash. A broad-winged Pelipper made its entrance. Blackmore hefted himself onto the windowsill. He smoothly pushed himself through the window and his Pelipper caught him. Together, they swooped about outside as Blackmore readied himself for a moment whilst his steed cried out into the dim, rainy darkness of Nimbasa City.

   Together, they hopped about from window to window, between the buildings in a search for the intruder.

   Meanwhile Lucy had pulled herself together again. Her cheeks had not yet dried but her throat had. Her resolve had steeled. Lucy no longer felt hopeless. The moment of panic had passed. She felt safe in her room but noises outside, unnatural cries of a Pelipper, had alerted her that other searches might be underway.

   So, she drew away from the door and towards the window. She curiously peered out over the ornate windowsill. Lucy carefully lifted herself from her knees. She strained her sight. From her limited position, she could not see the source of noises. Perhaps she had imagined it, but why the distinct noisy cry of a Pelipper?

   Lucy ducked down and as she did, the door began to bang. The chair she had shoved beneath the handle rattled. Her heart rate, once settled, was once again going a million miles an hour.

   ‘The door’s locked from the inside! The intruder’s got to be in here!’ a man yelled.

   The once imaginary Pelipper crewed once more and Lucy was certain that it was not her imagination. Lucy kept her head down and she tried not cry. She also tried not to imagine who was waiting outside in the rain.

   Blackmore steered his Pelipper towards the source of the banging. He was not a fool. He had heard a guard yell about the intruder as well.

   ‘Get back Mr President, we’ll blow the door open with a shotgun!’

   Lucy couldn’t afford to waste any time. The person outside be damned! So, she made her break for it. She got up and she ran as fierce and as fast as she could to the other side of the room where there was another exit. And, as it would happen, it would turn into fortuitous timing.

   ‘Use Water Pulse!’ a voice – Blackmore, perhaps? – yelled.

   The person, very likely Blackmore to Lucy now, outside broke down the window. Two blasts came through. The first of which was the shotgun. A whole section of the door was turned to smithereens thanks to the blast of the shotgun. The men forced their way through after that. The second blast came from the Pelipper. Rushing water surged through the air at a breakneck pace and smashed the glass. The window shattered. Blackmore forced himself through just as the other men stormed the room. In the chaos, in the dust and the glass and the ringing air, the intruder was seeming to be nowhere.

   Or so Lucy hoped once she had made it safely to her next hiding place.

   President Valentine elbowed his way through the crowd of befuddled men. Blackmore panted as he dismounted his Pelipper.

   ‘Blackmore,’ the president barked, ‘where is the intruder.’

   In reply, Blackmore steadily rose his arm and pointed opposite them: ‘I saw him run there, into the bathroom.’

   Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Lucy locked herself in a stall. They were spacious and tiled white-blue. She collapsed in a nook away from the sink and toilet. She curled up again, bawling. She was unable to stop herself. She was at the end of the line. She was out of luck. She would require a miracle to get out this life or death situation.

   ‘Mrs Steel, calm down, look: a vine.’

   An unknown voice came down through the ceiling. Lucy’s ears were piqued so she lifted her head even though her face was moulded in a tableau of a sob. She turned her head slightly a green vine, thick with leaves coming off it here and there, hovered above the toilet. She looked up and above the toilet, through the busted grate of ventilation shaft, an inhuman face peered down at her: a Simisage.

   ‘What…?’ she mumbled, confused.

   ‘Please, grab on.’

   The voice evidently did not belong to the Simisage. However, more voices clustered outside.

   Through the din, a series of orders came from President Valentine: ‘You have permission to shoot! Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter! Hurry! Or else he might flush the information down the toilet! Block off the sewage system of this building, as well!’

   ‘Stand back, we’ll destroy the door.’ a grunt said.

   Lucy was terrified when she heard all this. Her choice was obvious. Trust the voice who wanted to aide her rather than the voices of those who sought to see her killed. So, she got up in a scramble and drew in closer to where the vine hung. She looked up and saw a human face to match the human voice. She was surprised to realise that she knew this rugged face and blue eyes: it was Mountain Tim.

   ‘Lucy, hurry, grab Lonesome’s vine.’ he begged her.

   Without hesitation, Lucy grabbed the vine.

   ‘Alright Lonesome, let’s haul her up.’

   ‘Sage!’ his Simisage cooed in agreement.

   As Lucy was pulled up, Mountain Tim smiled tenderly: ‘Thanks for the phone call. Thank you for remembering me.’

   The door was pounded with bullets and broken down to smithereens. Once more, President Valentine and his guards burst into the room. Once more, it was seemingly empty.

   ‘What is the meaning of this Blackmore?’ President Valentine growled. ‘I thought our wrench in the works didn’t have outside help: man or ‘mon? Where is the intruder?’

   Behind them, a confused Stephen Steel bumbled into the room. He looked around at the state of things. It seemed all very irrational to him.

   ‘What is the meaning of this, perhaps? I wish to know what all this racket is about?’ he asked.

   President Valentine whipped around, and he roared: ‘Everyone uninvolved in this stay out of the room! Don’t even take a step out until I give permission!’

   The guards then clustered around Mr Steel. They escorted him back to his room whilst Mr Steel was left even more confused than before. President Valentine took a breath. Blackmore began investigating the room: checking the toilet and the window. Then, he looked up and noticed how the ventilation shaft’s grate had broken bars in this room.

   ‘Explain yourself, Blackmore. What are you going to do? You said our enemy was isolated and was not a Trainer. However, the information was stolen from inside my mansion. This will not be tolerated! This will not be forgiven!’

   ‘Mr President, we may not have lost the intruder yet and I am truly sooory but, it seems to me, that there might be two intruders. One to invade, and one to escape. But, fortunately, two intruders are easier to track than one intruder.’ Blackmore pointed upwards. ‘I don’t know how but one of them must have broken the bars and that’s how they’re escaping but, they’re sitting Psyduck now…’

   Whilst Blackmore prepared himself to quite literally flush out the intruders from the vents, Mr Steel’s assistant had something to bring to Mr Steel who was now back in his office. He was at his window, watching the rain. He hoped that its repetitive and serene noises would lull him back to complacency after the past half an hour or so. His feathers were still ruffled from all the gunshots and other ruckus instigated in what seemed like a snipe hunt to him.

   ‘Mr Steel, your wife has brought you lunch, sir.’ His assistant told him, standing in the doorway.

   The assistant held a wooden case in his hand. Mr Steel looked over his shoulder to his desk where a similar wooden case sat. It was open and inside it was stacked with fresh sandwiches and an apple. In front of it, a cup of tea sat. Steam still curled off of its surface, cooling.

   ‘As in… that lunch?’ he asked. ‘My lunch?’

   ‘Oh, perhaps she made a mistake. Well, it is fortunate that she left the building to return to her studies before all this fuss went down.’ His assistant speculated.

   ‘Yes, it is fortunate. She is of a delicate temperament, that girl. She would not like any of this at all. But, bless her heart for worrying that I would go without lunch today. Better two servings than none.’

   ‘Yes, sir.’

   Meanwhile, Blackmore explained his plan to President Valentine. Blackmore did not possess many Pokemon suitable for such a low speed chase through a contained space. So, they would have one chance. Nonetheless, he chose a PokeBall from hidden beneath his thick, woollen, navy coat.

   ‘Sorry to bother you, Lost Contact, but I need you to investigate the vent.’ he said.

   The PokeBall opened in a spill of silver light. His Octillery was summoned and immediately set itself to work. It was a creature of a rubbery and pliable condition and with the aide of its suction cups, it was able to scale the wall and manouver around the broken bars.

   ‘Octo!’ it squealed, declaring its presence as it tried to waddle through the vent.

   Further down the vent was Lucy and Mountain Tim. The moment that Lucy had been pulled up, he had put away his Simisage as it would be impossible for all three of them to hurry along through the vents. Then, Mountain Tim led the way and Lucy followed along behind. The ventilation shaft was barely big enough for her, let alone them both. The resounding call of an Octillery left them both terrified; terrified enough for Mountain Tim to bolt up and hit his head against the shaft.

   ‘Don’t worry, Luce.’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure they can’t track us. C’mon Jessica, let’s do this.’

   His Maractus popped out of its PokeBall and crawled along the vent with more success than its Trainer.

    ‘Use Giga Drain, girl.’ Mountain Tim grunted.

   ‘Mar, mar!’ his Maractus cooed back in agreement.

   The darkness of the vent was shattered as a green glow bolted down through. It was orb-like with a primordial, light-filled centre. It hit something with a great impact and dissolved. The light dissipated. Maractus cooed sweetly. Its enemies made flailing noises before fainting.

   ‘Return, Jessica.’ Mountain Tim ordered.

   Together, he and Lucy continued crawling through the vents. It was a long, painful process through the darkness but eventually, they found an empty room they could escape from. Mountain Tim busted open the grate with industrial grate pliers and he lowered himself through the hole. He dropped down on the floor and he got out his Simisage once more. Using its Vine Whip, it was able to catch Lucy when it was her turn to go down.

   They repeat the process once more down the side of the building before bolting for a warehouse. It was terrifying, being out in the open, but they managed. It didn’t seem like anyone had saw them make a break for it but their trespassing was obvious; Mountain tim once more getting out those bolt clippers but the warehouse was huge. Unfortunately, there were not many places to hide inside it but for now it would do.

   Once they were on their own two feet, recovering and eyes adjusting, Lucy immediately embraced Mountain Tim. He had changed. His body was scarred and his clothes now impractical for travelling. She had phoned days earlier in the hopes that he would be able to body guard for Stephen since he had now dropped out of the race. It seemed impossible now.

   ‘I – I guess now is a good time to tell you things I couldn’t tell you over the phone.’ he said.

   He felt awkward as Lucy buried herself in his fur coat. He patted her shoulder; uncertain of what to say. It had been a long time since he had to comfort or console a girl Lucy’s age, but it was nostalgic too; mournfully so.

   ‘Yeah…’ Lucy mumbled.

   ‘I encountered a terrorist named Oyecomova when travelling with some friends. He was sicked his Pokémon on me and I feel lucky to be alive after sustained some injuries which put me in an inch of my life; maybe closer.’

   ‘Oh, Tim, that’s awful…’ Lucy sobbed. ‘And your friends? Are they safe?’

   ‘Yeah, they’re safe.’ Mountain Tim said. ‘But, what about you? Let’s worry about you first, dear me… you’re shaking something awful.’

   ‘I feel safe now that I have you. You’re so strong and reliable…’ Lucy said, hiccupping occasionally through her tears.

   ‘I don’t feel strong. This is quite some predicament you’re in, Luce. I’m glad you called me. I hate to think how this could’ve played out if ya hadn’t.’ Mountain Tim replied. ‘What’s happened to you last time we saw each other?’

   Lucy cried even harder now. Mountain Tim tried to shush her, but she squirmed out of his arms. She held herself now. Her cheeks were slick, but she didn’t seem to be crying. Mountain Tim waited patiently for Lucy to compose herself.

   ‘You said you were in trouble; that Stephen was in trouble. You wanted to hire me as body guard, correct? What kind of dire situation are you both in that you need a body guard for?’ he asked.

   ‘I… I can’t tell you the specifics. I don’t even know the specifics… But I do know that if I tell you, that’ll put you in even graver danger than just protecting Stephen and I.’ Lucy replied.

   ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. Please Lucy, I don’t want to fail at protecting another life because neither of us can say the right words.’ Mountain Tim said; his teeth were clenched and there were pinpricks of tears in the corners of his eyes.

   ‘…What do you mean?’ Lucy asked.

   ‘I’m an old sap… You just remind me of my sister…’ Mountain Tim rambled.

   ‘…The one who passed away?’ Lucy asked lest Mountain Tim had more than one.

   ‘Yes. Her.’ Mountain Tim nodded gravely.

   ‘I-I’m so sorry, Tim.’ Lucy mourned. ‘Were you close to her…?’

   ‘Very. She was my sister after all; we were thick as thieves once upon a time.’ Mountain Tim replied. ‘Her name was Jillian.’

   ‘That’s a nice name…’ Lucy murmured.

   ‘She was a nice girl. Her biggest dream was to get married; I’ve told you that before. But… But that never happened. She passed away from pneumonia; she was a stubborn thing, my Jill. For some forsaken reason, she decided that she’d go swimming in the rain. There was a strong riptide. Thankfully my friend was with her but when he got to the hospital, it was too late. She was struck with pneumonia. Maybe if I had been there with them that day, she would’ve…’

   ‘Please don’t blame yourself, Tim!’ Lucy snapped, tears in her eyes.

   Mountain Tim grimaced. ‘I have to blame myself, Lucy. Her death was preventable, and I failed. And I don’t want to fail again. Lucy, if you’re in a bad situation, then I will help. I don’t want you to be a preventable death either.’

   ‘Tim…’ Lucy gasped.

   ‘Please, endanger me all you like if it is a means to a safer end for you.’ Mountain Tim.

   ‘I… I need to do this part alone.’ Lucy said. ‘I will return to you as soon as I can and maybe I can explain things better then but until then. I will do this part alone.’

   ‘My only fear is losing you. I care about your safety, Lucy. Even if it’s only a smile, it will feel like I’ve righted at least one wrong in this world. For that alone, I would be willing to go through Hell.’ Mountain Tim explained in a grim tone.

   Lucy’s heart ached. She was beginning to feel that once more, a man in her life saw her as someone else: not her. First, it was Stephen seeing his deceased fiancé in her. Now, it was Mountain Tim seeing his deceased sister in her. It hurt, truth be told. She was very rarely acknowledged as her own person.

   Still, she was of a compassionate nature. She wanted to help Mountain Tim emotionally. And she needed his help as allies would prove invaluable in a situation like this. But, she had to go it alone. At least this part.

   ‘I have information, but I don’t know what it means.’ Lucy confessed. ‘I promise to be safe. Once I find out what this information means, I will contact you and explain to you without being kyrptic or secretive. Please, Tim, I need you to trust me. Just for this little bit. After that, you can baby me all you like.’

   Mountain Tim was visibly pained by Lucy’s declaration of independence but, he sighed. Lucy lifted her shoulders. Mountain Tim held his face.

   ‘I don’t want to do this but, since you have insisted… I will relent.’ He said.

   ‘Thank you,’ Lucy said, and her eyes began to water, ‘thank you. I-I’ll come back as soon as possible, I swear.’

   Lucy hugged Mountain Tim again. This time, he held her tight for he feared it may be his last chance to see her. As Lucy let go, Mountain Tim held her hands and got onto his knee. He looked very concerned.

   ‘Tell me, Lucy, do you know how to control a Pokemon?’ he asked.

   ‘Yes. Of course, I do.’ Lucy said. She may not have one of her own, but she had been raised around them. She wasn’t a fool.

   ‘Please, take my Miltank with you. If you get hurt, you can rely on her to heal you.’ Mountain Tim said.

   He got up and he dug through a pocket on the inside his fur-lined cloak. He held Lucy a PokeBall. He possessed a concern brow.

   ‘Her name is Melissa. But, because you’re a new Trainer, she mightn’t listen to you so try to stay out of trouble.’ he said.

   ‘Thank you… Thank you so much.’ Lucy replied.

   She gratefully clutched the PokeBall with a sincere smile. Mountain Tim’s lips twitched. He really didn’t want to part with her, but she exuded a contradictory confidence now that she had been cleared of her sobbing. She seemed like she was certain in her convictions to do what was best.

   ‘The next time we meet, you hear. You give me back my Melissa, okay?’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Okay.’ Lucy confirmed.

   ‘And some more advise…. If things get really bad, you might meet my friends. They’re embroiled in some strange trouble beyond me. If you cross paths with them, I think they’ll help. Their names are Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli. They’re good, strong men. Last I heard, they were gettin’ real close to Nimbasa City.’ Mountain Tim said.

   Lucy’s eyes widened. Those were the names of the men that President Valentine would mention with disdain. She would never have imagined that they would be companions of Mountain Tim. Lucy was now certain that she could trust them as they had a common enemy and a common friend, too.

   ‘But, before we go… mind telling me why your going through all this trouble?’ he asked.

   ‘Just like you want to protect me, I have someone I want to protect as well. Our relationship is strange but my love for him is true and pure. I want to protect Stephen because he is my husband and my benefactor. I love him like I love no one else.’ Lucy professed.

   ‘I get the sense you love this man a lot.’ Mountain Tim replied, slightly uncomfortable.

   ‘I do.’ Lucy replied.

   ‘Well, I hope fortune is with you, Mrs Steel. Do take care.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘Until we meet again.’ Lucy replied with a wavering smile.

   With a heavy heart, Mountain Tim departed. Lucy stowed the PokeBall she had been given on her belt; it looked oddly out of place next to the yellow pompoms she was adorned with. As he turned his back on her, Lucy got out the note, so she could pore over it once more. She bolted to the other side of the warehouse. She snooped through the décor and was lucky to find a map.

   She pulled it out and compared coordinates. Between it and the note, she was able to discern that the thing – the Dragon Stone – was located very close to Nimbasa City in a field with possessed a small, mangled ruin known as the Green Tombstone.

   Lucy had some knowledge on the Dragon Stones. Every kid in Unova knew something about the mystical, legendary Pokémon they supposedly contained. But it was just a myth. They couldn’t be true, but she had seen stranger things these past couple of days thanks to inadvertently eavesdropping President Valentine. Perhaps, they were real.

   She furrowed her brow. The obvious thing here would be to not allow this Dragon Stone fall into President Valentine’s clutches, but the less obvious thing was how. An answer to the less obvious question was perhaps she could give it to Johnny Joestar or Gyro Zeppeli. But she knew neither man; she only knew them by reputation and that reputation was spotty thanks to incomplete eavesdropping and mentions in conversation.

   She was uncertain.


	41. VS TRAINER BLACKMORE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mountain Tim and Blackmore engage in a Pokemon battle.

   As Mountain Tim went in the other direction, he maintained a composed demeanour even though his mind was racing with worry. He didn’t want to leave Lucy alone, but it would be disrespectful to follow her along. Besides, if he tracked Lucy, someone else might use him to do so for a far more malicious intent than “genuine concern”.

   The rain heavied as Mountain Tim plodded through it. A foul smell wafted up from the damp fur around his neck. It felt darker and later than it was.

   ‘Excuse me…’ a querying voice rung out.

   Mountain Tim paused. He felt like he knew that voice from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. It was rather frustrating since this voice had it on edge despite its mopey intonations. He brow twinged, and his curiosity piqued. He turned around.

   ‘What do you want?’ Mountain Tim growled, suspicious. ‘It’s mighty impolite to bother a stranger.’

   A few paces down a man in a thick navy coat extended an umbrella towards him.

   ‘Might I offer you an umbrella?’ he asked.

   ‘I’m right thank you. Now, is that all?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   ‘Well, no… I just thought it might be good of me to butter you up. My name is Blackmore. You’re the sheriff around these parts… aren’t you?’

   Blackmore? Mountain Tim replied. He tried not to show his surprise, but he was certain that was a name that President Valentine had flung around. It was in all certainty that this man, miserable and wet, was a lackey belonging to President Valentine.

   But, there was something else. It was like a tickle in the foggiest parts of his memory. Surely it was wrong.

   ‘I want to report a break-in.’ Blackmore said.

   ‘A break-in, that’s pretty serious. We ought to get you through due process then.’ Mountain Tim replied, almost jocular to Blackmore.

   Blackmore drew in closer. His features became more pronounced: his olive skin, his sandy hair, and his blues. He did not smile. That face, thin and big-nosed, was familiar. Perhaps Mountain Tim had glimpsed Blackmore before.

   ‘A break-in I believe you assisted in, Sheriff Mountain Tim.’ Blackmore accused.

   ‘You have no evidence of such a thing. I’m a law-abiding man, Mr Blackmore.’ Mountain Tim replied.

   ‘Then let’s test that again due process, shall we?’ Blackmore said. ‘Our eyes have met so I believe a battle is in order. I believe you were a member of the Steel Ball Run race so perhaps you can appreciate such a convention. After all, I’m a member of President Valentine’s chosen Trainers. Defeat me and they might just let you back into the race.’

   ‘I lost with grievous injuries. It might have been an unfair loss, but I will accept it graciously. There are more deserving Trainers in that race.’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘How honourable.’ Blackmore spat with a venomous taint to his nasally voice.

   ‘But, your right. I can appreciate such a convention. Alright, if you think it’ll prove my innocence, then so be it.’ Mountain Tim said.

   Between the two of them, Mountain Tim was quicker to fling out a PokeBall. His brow furrowed. He knew that Blackmore at one, fainted water type on his team currently but Mountain Tim had, upon infiltrating the building, noticed that his steed of choice was Pelipper. As much as he enjoyed relying on his Simisage, it didn’t seem like the wisest decision.

   At the top of his voice he yelled, ‘I choose you, Soulshine!’

   In the high arc of the thrown PokeBall, there was a brilliant, silver light. From it, descended an Ampharos. The orb upon the end of its tail lit up in a scarlet glow as it crooned fiercely.

   ‘Use Power Gem!’ Mountain Tim yelled.

   His Ampharos stomped forward in a warcry-like manner. From thin air, manifesting between the rain drops it seemed, came jewel-like stones. They were thrown forward. Blackmore raised his arms defensively as he was battered by them. The exposed skin, and some cloth, were shredded by their pointed edges. Blood everywhere in a grand splatter as Blackmore was forced down.

   ‘Your guilt is confirmed from that alone.’ Blackmore hissed in pain.

   Mountain Tim edged forward, gun in hand. Blackmore got up. He grimaced and held his abdomen. However, his hand dug through his pocket. He got out a PokeBall.

   ‘Sorry to bother you, Stormbringer, but… I need you to fight.’ he said.

   Mountain Tim holstered his gun. There was a silver flash and Blackmore was, consequently, defended by his Pokémon of choice: a Seismitoad. Mountain Tim clicked his tongue in frustration. Seismitoad was a partial ground type which gave it immunity to electric-types but a double weakness to grass. He should have foreseen such a turn of events; he shouldn’t have doubted his instinct which was to entrust this battle to Simisage.

   ‘Use Mud Shot.’ Blackmore instructed.

   His Seismitoad lumbered forward. It bore a hideous, smug expression as its lower jaw slackened. A forceful burst of pale brown gunk was pushed forward from deep inside its gut. Its target was not Mountain Tim but rather his Ampharos. The muck flew through the air and splattered against Ampharos who crooned with deep frustration. Ampharos appeared to have taken much damage from that attack.

   Mountain Tim gritted his teeth; he thrust out his arm, and he yelled: ‘Secret Power!’

   Ampharos screeched in reply. Crackles of electricity bounces along its arms as it charged through. Secret Power transformed into Body Slam, it would seem, thanks to the urban location of the battle rather than anything due to the weather. Secret Power was always a gamble and Mountain Tim was a gambling man.

   Ampharos slammed into Seismitoad. Seismatoad grasped onto Ampharos’s thick body but Ampharos pushed onward. Seismitoad took some damage but it seemed to have fared well against the attack.

   ‘Use Mud Bomb.’ Blackmore instructed his Seismitoad.

   Seismitoad threw back its arms and its maw gaped. From the depths of its gut came an even bigger manifestation of mud and gunk. It slapped against Ampharos. Ampharos stumbled back until it tripped over its own, thick feet. It fell over and its head away slightly; like it was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

   ‘C’mon, Soul, you can do it!’ Mountain Tim encouraged.

   ‘Ever the optimist…’ Blackmore mumbled.

   Mountain Tim frowned. That was oddly… personal? He supposed. But, he shook his head. He had more important things to consider than how forward this foe was being with him.

   ‘Soulshine, use Secret Power again!’ Mountain Tim ordered.

   Secret Power turned into a gamble once more. Rather than be affected by the wider location of the city, it chose to be affected by the puddle forming underneath everyone’s feet thanks to the rain still harmoniously pouring down seeming without end. As a result, Ampharos’ attack turned into Bubble Beam.

   From Ampharos’ maw came a spray of shiny bubbles. They were forced forward in a powerful burst. Blackmore snickered. Mountain Tim was irked by it, not sure why but it was strangely nostalgic for him and that irked him even more.

   Seismitoad took the attack head on, unfazed by the attack. The bubbles popped over its bumpy snout. It shook its head and its tongue lolled out. It awaited Blackmore’s next order.

   ‘Finish Soulshine, Stormbringer: use Uproar!’ Blackmore shouted.

   The following attack shook the otherwise quiet street with noise. The Uproar was excruciatingly loud. The notes jarring and not even close to matching. Ampharos squealed and attempted to cover its earholes with its stubby paws but failed. The noise was too much; it was too much for anyone really. Ampharos fell forward and fainted.

   Mountain Tim whipped out his PokeBall again, teeth clenched together and furious; not just with Blackmore but also himself.

   ‘Return!’ Mountain Tim yelled.

   ‘Use Scald!’ Blackmore shouted.

   There was a flash of scarlet and Ampharos disappeared. In the swirl of light that resulted, boiling hot water was shot through the air. Mountain Tim’s eyes widened. He dropped his PokeBall and protected his face. He was splashed with the steaming water. It soaked through his clothes; burned him to his core.

   He was brought to his knees as Blackmore sauntered forward with that Seismitoad in tow. Blackmore smirked. Mountain Tim looked up to him and a revelation appeared in his mind as he got a good look into the colour of Blackmore’s eyes. They were azure like the sky before a storm. He would know those eyes anywhere. Even after a decade and a bit of not seeing them.

   ‘Ritchie…?’ Mountain Tim mumbled.

   Blackmore kicked Mountain Tim’s chest. Mountain Tim choked, and he fell back.

   ‘I don’t go by that name anymore.’ Blackmore said as he subdued Mountain Tim.

   Blackmore sat on Mountain Tim; straddling him, nearly. There was a look in Blackmore’s eyes which could chill Hell. He was burning with seething and loathing.

   ‘It… It is you.’ Mountain Tim choked as he tried to get up.

   ‘Perhaps. But I am not the person you once knew.’ Blackmore spat.

   ‘Do you still have Catch The Rainbow? Good ol’ Rainy?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   ‘Yes, but I don’t see how that matters.’ Blackmore replied. ‘I have better things to do than twaddle over “old times” with you.’

   ‘Aw, I remember how excited you were when you got that King Stone. You wanted evolve yer Poliwhirl, I wanted to evolve my Boldore.’ Mountain Tim rambled.

   ‘Shut up.’ Blackmore commanded.

   ‘Jill was so excited. She’d never seen a Pokémon evolve before, remember?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   ‘Cease your rambling. I’m here to interrogate you on behalf of President Valentine.’ Blackmore said.

   ‘I’d never seen you happier than when Rainy evolved into a Politoed. Politoed used to be your favourite Pokemon. Is it still?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   Mountain Tim did not speak like a man who had been burned with boiling water and was being interrogated on behalf a criminal faction. It was tiresome. Blackmore thought he had suppressed those childhood memories, but Mountain Tim’s dreamy way of talking was riling him up in ways which were counterproductive to his goal.

   All his goals but one. This irksome dialogue of nostalgia and business was hideous, but it was reminding Blackmore of why he decided to side with President Valentine and Team Pax Unova.

   ‘Shut up.’ Blackmore said.

   ‘Aw, come on now. That’s no way to talk to an old friend.’ Mountain Tim rambled.

   ‘You are not an old friend, Tim.’ Blackmore said.

   ‘Jill used to talk about you all the time. She adored you, you know that?’ Mountain Tim asked.

   ‘Who did you help escape from the President’s mansion?’ Blackmore asked.

   ‘I always thought it’d be you an’ Jill. Before she died. I thought for sure I’d be best man at you and her’s wedding.’ Mountain Tim said with such romanticised tone.

   Blackmore pulled out a weapon, a knife. Without hesitating, he plunged it into Mountain Tim’s chest. Mountain Tim gagged. There was a spurt of blood. It sullied both his own clothes and his own body but Blackmore’s as well. Mountain Tim’s blood dripped down the side of his cheeks like a mockery of tears. Fortunately, Mountain Tim’s vitals weren’t hit, and Blackmore didn’t pull it out. He’d be fine.

   ‘We were friends once. In a previous life. Hence why I am extending you this courtesy. I will take you to the hospital if you betray your companion.’ Blackmore said.

   ‘Aw, I knew we were still friends.’ Mountain Tim laughed.

   ‘Just tell me or I will kill you.’ Blackmore threatened.

   ‘Did Jill ever tell you she loved you? ‘Cause she really did. An’ I loved you too, like a brother. We were the three musketeers. I still cherish those memories of you comin’ down to Driftveil City from Undella Town. Those were the best summers of my life… ‘fore it all ended when Jill died.’ Mountain Tim reminisced.

   ‘Shut up!’ Blackmore screeched.

   The blood on his cheek was pushed down by tears. Frustration anchored itself heavily in his heart. Guilt ate away as choked sobs turned into unrestrained tears.

   ‘Yes.’ Blackmore hissed through his teeth. ‘Jillian did tell me.’

   Mountain Tim’s eyes widened. ‘What…? Sh-She never told me.’

   ‘She told me right before she went to the hospital. It’s my fault she died.’ Blackmore mourned as more, hot tears fell from his face.

   ‘What?’ Mountain Tim gasped. He felt like his world was crumbling.

   ‘It was raining. We were sharing an umbrella. We were strolling by the bay and that’s when she told me. She tried to kiss me and I… I threw her back. I tried to explain th-that I didn’t love her like that, but she kept invading my personal space. I got scared. I pushed her. I pushed her into the bay, Tim!’ Blackmore shouted. ‘And after I fished her out, she was barely breathing. We got to the hospital and she passed out. Then the pneumonia struck.’

   ‘I-I was told that she went swimming…’ Mountain Tim said.

   ‘I lied, Tim.’ Blackmore asserted. ‘I didn’t want to get into trouble for pushing her into the water.’

   ‘You killed my sister.’ Mountain Tim said, rage took over.

   He tried to grab Blackmore, but Blackmore swatted his hands away. Blackmore’s fingers circled the hilt of the knife plunged into his chest. It was a dancing warning but a warning nonetheless. Mountain Tim relented.

   ‘I didn’t love her, Tim.’ Blackmore confessed. ‘I loved you.’

   Mountain Tim’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He felt as though something had clicked into place though. Strange titbits from his memories of those summers he had spent with his sister and Blackmore resurfaced and with his new information, some of those things made sense to him in a completely new way now. He didn’t know he felt about that. Mostly because Blackmore had a knife in his chest, but that was beside the point.

   ‘But, that was a different life.’ Blackmore said. ‘It’s a shame we had to reunite like this, right now. So, tell me: who was the person you helped escape? Tell me and I will spare your life.’

   ‘I’m a cowboy, Ritchie.’ Mountain Tim murmured.

   ‘Don’t call me that.’ Blackmore snapped.

   ‘If this is how I die. This is how I die. I’d rather die here, in a fight than on a bed in some cushy hospital. If it is by your hands, so be it. I hope you feel gratified that you killed both me and my sister.’

   ‘Just fucking tell me already, Tim!’ Blackmore shouted.

   Mountain Tim didn’t reply.

   ‘Tell me, Timmy!’ Blackmore screamed.

   Mountain Tim snorted. There was an old nickname he never thought he’d hear again.

   Timmy, Jilly, and Ritchie. Now it would just be Ritchie since he had killed both Timmy and Jilly.

   Mountain Tim began to fade from consciousness. Blackmore exhaled sharply. He soon realised that Mountain Tim was breathing shallowly but wasn’t conscious.

   ‘Don’t worry you fool…’ Blackmore muttered. ‘I won’t let you die.’

   But he wouldn’t let Mountain Tim protect this person either. So, his priorities were to discover this person’s identity and then save Mountain Tim. He wouldn’t let both Tim and Jill die by his hand. He refused but business first.

   Blackmore felt around on the inside of Mountain Tim’s pocket. He hoped to find the note but all he found was a peculiar wet patch and the waft of another person’s scent. The wet patch was particularly noticeable around Mountain Tim’s chest and seemed unrelated to his blood loss; that was too far up. This was perhaps closer to the bottom of his chest; around his sternum undisturbed by the knife.

   Blackmore’s eyes widened. ‘The intruder was short…’ he noted. ‘Is it possible the intruder was a woman?’

   Blackmore got up. Realisation flashed inside of him. He began to remember something that he had overheard. Mr Steel had two lunches today.

   Lucy. Lucy Steel must have been the intruder. She must have used her husband’s credit to gain access to the building. It would also explain how she knew to expect the Pidove’s arrival. She was always toting around tea in the background. It wouldn’t be totally unexpected if she had overheard things she shouldn’t have been exposed to. Not to mention, she had been introduced to Mountain Tim earlier by her husband’s bumbling. Hence why he was involved. Most of this made sense.

   What Blackmore didn’t understand was why. That could be investigated later. He had an identity to the intruder now. He could be at peace with that. He returned his Seismitoad to its PokeBall.

   ‘Sorry to bother you, Nasty Piece of Work…’ Blackmore mumbled, face twitching. ‘But I need you to do me a favour.’

   His PokeBall opened. In a spill of silver light, a Floatzel reared up. It glared at Blackmore, but Blackmore glared back.

   ‘Take Tim to the hospital. I will come for you later.’ Blackmore commanded.

   ‘Zel!’ his Floatzel snarled.

   It got down and wriggled underneath Mountain Tim’s body. The floatation tubing it possessed puffed up. Mountain Tim was kept snugly on its back.

   ‘Go, now. That way. Timmy doesn’t have much time.’ Blackmore said; he inwardly cursed himself for allowing that stupid pet name on his tongue once more.

   His Floatzel yipped and took off in the direction it had been pointed. It bounded off and Blackmore wished for the best. He did not want to have both Tim and Jillian’s blood on his hands. But, he turned away. He took a breath. He remembered his vow. He believed in President Valentine’s goal of justice completely and utterly, though he was equally compelled by the ideal of love but confronted with the truth of it being going unrequited.

   For now, he had to go. He got out another PokeBall and he released the creature inside: his Pelipper. In what felt like an instant, he was whisked away. Before returning to the mansion, he checked the hotel that the Steels had rented to little avail.

   He then promptly returned to the mansion. Blackmore swept through the main floor where he found the clerks, sitting around, talking and having a smoke. Blackmore’s prescence disturbed – and surprised – them.

   ‘Where is Lucy Steel?’ Blackmore demanded. ‘She wasn’t at the hotel.’

   ‘Huh? Mrs Steel? She just left to do some shopping. Took a mount and rode it somethin’ fierce. Didn’t even know she had it in her.’ one clerk said.

   ‘Dunno what she needs in this weather, but it must be urgent.’ the other continued.

   ‘Weird though. The shopping district is east, but she was headed north.’

   That was all Blackmore needed to know. Lucy’s motivations were still unclear, but Blackmore was certain they could be confirmed soon. With his Pelipper in tow, they both headed out the door. The rain continued to pound them. He got on his Pelipper’s back and they flew off.

   As they travelled, Blackmore wondered. Was it possible this northern location that Lucy was bolting to the location of the next Dragon Stone?

   By the time Blackmore was even leaving, Lucy had already arrived. She circled around the strange ruins which were half hidden by gnolls and long grass. The ruins which emerged from the earth possessed strange markings but one stuck out to her: the figure of a broken dragon. It drew her to it and it had what everyone wanted. So, she took it. She coiled it in a cloth and kept it close to her breast.

    The Rapidash she had taken to ride whinnied in the background. It disliked the weather, but it was the only mount Lucy knew as it belonged to her husband and was known by no nickname. It was very old, but it still ran faster than the wind.

   The Green Tombstone, as this area was known, as attracting all sorts of people from all sorts of directions, it seemed.

   Finally, Gyro and Johnny were racing to the scene as well. They were tracking the hoof prints which belonged to a certain Sawsbuck. The rain continued to heavy. The earth and soil turned to mud. The distance blurred under the unforgiving and unrelenting sheet of water pouring from the heavens above.

   Diego was five minutes ahead of them both, or so it seemed. There was no way to confirm it in these terrible conditions. His hoof prints were turning to slosh as he went. Whatever Gyro and Johnny found had been morphed slightly by the weather.

   Further ahead, Diego felt empowered by the Dragon Stone which inhabited his left eye socket. It warmed his body in the middle of the cold storm. It gave him a bizarre tingling feeling which left him with an instinct: another Dragon Stone was ahead, and it was calling to him. With every stroke of his Sawsbuck’s body, the feeling seemed to get stronger as they closed in on the location of ‘Turbo’. But, he was plagued by another sensation. He was not the only one. It would be naïve to think that he wasn’t.

   Ahead of Diego was Lucy. She protected her bundle tightly as she held onto the reins. Her Rapidash was bleary, red beacon of light in the distance and it battled the adverse weather conditions with a gallant brilliance but it wasn’t enough.

   ‘Excuse me…. Mrs Lucy Steel….’

   Blackmore had caught up to her. His eerie voice rang out beneath the din of the rain. It chilled Lucy to the bone worse than the wet could ever. She kept going. She didn’t turn her head to acknowledge him. She refused to. She had to keep going. She had to protect the Dragon Stone. She had to meet Mountain Tim again. She had to see if she could ally herself with the Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar she had so much about. She had so much she had to do.

   But it felt utterly impossible as Blackmore closed in on her.

   ‘Mrs Steel,’ Blackmore’s voice rang out again, ‘I am sorry but what are you doing out here? And just what is that bundle you have there…?’

   Lucy didn’t reply. There were tears in her eyes. She continued to hold on tightly to her reins. Her Rapidash steadfastly continued to gallop onwards.

   ‘Use Scald, Junkyard Blues.’ Blackmore commanded.

   From above her, boiling hot water was poured through the air. It dropped heavily upon her. She screamed as it sunk in beneath her cloak and burned her skin. She immediately blistered.

   Her voice seemed to not only resound through the rain but through the whole of the Nimbasa City limits. It was heard with confusion and concern and puzzlement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I've run out of chapters to post so there will be no new posts next week! I will try to restock the larder as quick as possible, especially since we're 10 weeks off our first year anniversary. Follow me at @steelpokeballrun on tumblr for updates on the hiatus <3


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